


The Hellhound and the Nundu

by corvusdraconis, Dragon_and_the_Rose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hellhounds, Hogwarts does what wants, nundu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25215808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvusdraconis/pseuds/corvusdraconis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_the_Rose/pseuds/Dragon_and_the_Rose
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 75
Kudos: 394
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** AU/Crack, SSHG, Severus has always kept his Animagus form on the down-low ever since he almost tore Lupin to pieces in self-defence. Every so often though, he just needs to go for a bloody walk and enjoy the night air. That was the way it was supposed to work, anyway.

 **Beta Love:** Publishing Unsupervised! _**AHHHHH!**_

_Guess again, birdie! - Dragon_

Dragon and the Rose caught me again!

* * *

**The Hellhound and the Nundu**

A Short by Corvus Draconis

_I think that the shame of being different is very painful for a lot of people._

**Min Jin Lee**

* * *

Severus let out a long huff as he flopped down into the night-cooled grass, his aching muscles from the past week, month— hell, who was _he_ fooling, years of torment from that bloody gang of Potter's—

Now, Lily's fear of him had caused her to become yet another reason people could never be trusted.

All because when Lupin had tried his very best to maul him as a werewolf— he had turned into something much bigger and ultimately even more pissed off—

Now, the Headmaster had sworn him to secrecy to protect the seriously "injured" Lupin, who would probably be limping for life, Black, who had lost his pretty voice with some introduction as to why the phrase "go for the throat" had become a thing, Pettigrew, who had lost a hand and all the toes from his left foot, and Potter himself, who probably wouldn't have full range of motion in his shoulder ever again.

Lily was convinced he was a vicious, vindictive _monster_ , and whatever hope he might have had of making up with her after the infamous Mudblood incident had tanked utterly. All the years of friendship had counted for nothing in the end. Saying he was sorry. _Nothing_. Meaning it. _Nothing_. It was as if he no longer existed, and the Gryffindors had (without actually breaking the vow) made up something even worse for her to think about him.

And she believed it.

She believed _THEM_ … over him.

The only compensation he was getting from Dumbledore was permission to walk around at night to "relax" which was really his way of letting Snape get away from the wankers— of course, he never said it like _that_.

Severus had done all the paperwork to register his rather bizarre Animagus form which had been listed as "unknown species of dog" because no one was really sure what the _heck_ he was. He did, at least, get a free pass on that thanks to it being a stress-related transformation— unlike Potter, Black, and Pettigrew.

They had to explain why they were unregistered Animagi all the while trying desperately not to blab about Lupin's somehow-undiscovered status as a werewolf.

How Dumbledore managed to keep _that_ a secret— well, Snape was certainly used to being on the receiving end of the Headmaster's favouritism towards Gryffindor.

People would only disappoint you, let you down, and abandon you when you truly needed a friend. People were idiots, dunderheads, and—

_**THUMP!** _

Severus' eyes widened as a— cat was like calling a cave bear "just a bear"- fell upon him and immediately started tackling his neck scruff, ears, and head.

So started was he that he could only lay there in the grass and get chewed and mauled on by—

By—

_**Prrrt!** _

The feline-ish "thing" which might have been a cub or something half-grown— still decidedly baby chubby as young animals were known to be— unlike him whose Animagus form was just as tall and lanky as his human self.

_**THUMP!** _

A large, clawless paw hit his muzzle as the—

Spotted markings.

Honey brown fur.

Amber eyes.

Green spots in the ears.

Sabre-like teeth that would be the envy of a sabre-toothed predator of old—

Oh gods.

It was a _Nundu_.

_**Mrrrrowl?** _

The "little" beast, which was only little because _his_ size was not exactly small, used all four legs to tackle his head and bring it down as its muzzle clamped (strangely without breaking skin) on his and her paws clawlessly pummelled his neck and head.

What the _**hell**_ did you do when being attacked by a Nundu?

He kept perfectly still.

He might be some hound of Hades, according to speculation at the registry, but Nundu were— well, they were Nundu!

A hundred wizards struggled to bring one of those down!

The young creature flopped against his head and purred, rubbing its cheek against him with feline possessiveness. That, at least, was universal feline.

His nostrils flared. Female. Pretty sure. His nose rarely failed him, and in his hellhound form, it was even more sensitive.

She snuggled against his neck and head, body thrumming with the power of her purr. It resonated deep within him, causing gears to turn, instincts to war within him, and—

_**SLURP!** _

He groomed the young feline interloper furiously, unable to stop himself, his tail wagging without his permission. When she wriggled, his paw pinned her down, and she mrowled and wiggled like she was being put out—

But she didn't struggle, really. Her rough tongue pegged his muzzle, nose, eyes— anything she could get in range.

He set his head down over her like the lid of a cauldron so only her tail stuck out from between his front legs. The end of the tail twitched back and forth.

_**PrrrRRRrrRRRrrrrr!** _

Severus couldn't help the fierce surge of protectiveness that came over him, and he began to drool lava profusely before frantically slurping the young creature over— a creature who seemed utterly oblivious to being bathed in molten rock. If anything, she seemed to sigh in profound relief as every single parasite, flea, tick, or other annoyance instantly died a horrible molten death.

_**PrrRRRrrRRRRrRRRR!** _

She snuggled up against his chin, bonking it with her head with blissful abandon.

He thumped one paw over her and ceased her shenanigans, laying his great head down over her with a soft whuff.

It was a really good thing, he decided, that whatever he was was _big_. Hellhound. lava dog. Whatever the hell he was.

She didn't seem to mind.

She puffed out a cloud of greenish-blue vapour, and it smelled of ripe raspberries.

He hoped that was a good sign and he wasn't going to keel over in a few seconds with a thousand and one purple pustulant boils and (literally) explosive diarrhoea.

Hell, what would that do to him as— what _ever_ he was? He was going to have to make something up just so he could stop speculating on what he was with myriad different names.

As he looked down into the cub's distinctive orange-green eyes, he noticed shimmering electric-like magic there and a bright, smouldering intelligence hidden behind the enthusiastic feline instincts. And, now that all that energy had finally found a way out, it seemed that there was some serious thinking going on in that almost-feline's head even as he felt a strange, crawling sensation in his head— an oozing warmth, like a soothing massage oil spread throughout him from head to toe, filling up the empty spaces he hadn't even realised he'd had with what could only be described as a liquid hug.

He knew in that very moment, if he didn't leap up and break contact, he would be bound forever in that warmth, companionship—

His mind screamed at him to get up, move, and not submit to the terribly frightening unknown!

His heart practically snapped its strings and went straight up to strangle the brain itself for daring to keep him from this, this wonderfully ecstatic feeling of acceptance, affection, and unconditional—

What was this—?

His brain screamed at him: resist!

Trust no one!

Everyone _**used**_ him!

His head jerked back even as he fought with himself, and he saw the droop in her entire body and the deep sadness in her eyes as she believed he was rejecting her. Suddenly, he saw a series of images in his head— the sneers at and mocking of a bushy-haired young girl by her own Gryffindor housemates, gravestones blurred by the pelting of heavy rain and tears, days and nights of constant harassment from her "peers" because while she was far too intelligent for the dunderheads surrounding her, she wasn't very good on a broom—

Driven out into the pounding rain— her face strewn with tears as she and her dress seemed to spontaneously fly to pieces as a young Nundu cub tore across the Hogwarts' green, running, running, running—

Until the rain stopped, and the smells changed, and there were all these new instincts, and all these— _**ohhellowillyoubemyfriendareyoualonetoocanIplaywithyouplease?!**_

_He's all warm and comforting and his ears are so chewy and purrrrrrrrrr is this what love is?_

_He smells sooooo good— like spiced cider and woodsmoke and bonfire toffee—_

_Wouldn't it be so great to have someone understand?_

_Someone who didn't mind me being— me?_

_Someone to study with—_

_To read with—_

_Someone who could understand that I just don't like brooms—_

_Oh no! He hates me! He hates me! Just like everyone else! Just like EV—_

Snape's jaws closed around the Nundu's scruff and dragged her between his forelegs as he bathed her thoroughly in warm lava drool.

She wriggled and mrowled, settling, her paws all sticking up in the air as he made eye contact with her.

 _I'm sorry,_ he thought to her as hard as he could. _I— I've had a life a lot like yours. Some better. Some even worse. If you're really sure, I would very much like to be your friend. Um….what is your name that I may address you properly?_

She cocked her head and licked her jowls, her long whiskers dripping hardened lava from his earlier attentions. _Hermione. Like in Shakespeare's 'A Winter's Tale.'_

 _Her. Mio. Ne._ Snape carefully sounded it out. _I'm Severus._

 _Severus! Like the Roman emperor!_ She poofed out her mane of spikes and fur with excitement. _How noble! I hope you like your full name. I hate nicknames. I mean, I guess I'd call you one if you really didn't like your name, but I think your name is pretty great and—_

Severus clamped his mouth over her muzzle. _Slow down, your thoughts are very, um … hyper._

 _Sorry!_ Her ears flattened. _I didn't know I could talk like this!_

 _Obviously,_ he replied, realising a mental smirk was just as effective— either that or his muzzle was twisted into much the same expression.

 _Will you really be my friend?_ Her mind voice was wistful and hopeful but also clearly expecting the worst.

He thumped his paw against her head. _You could find comfort from this? Someone like me?_

_Don't be thick, Severus. Of course! You smell wonderful, and you're very warm and comforting._

_I'm covered in molten lava!_

_It's comforting!_

Snape wrinkled his muzzle, tilting his head in utter confusion. _And scales._

_Protective._

_And feathers on my tail._

_I'd imagine it's a lot like a velociraptor or yutyrannus— though probably not as much to keep warm since you're covered in lava and all that too…_

Severus realised as the young Nundu spewed facts like the library reference section came to life that he'd _never_ be told to be quiet while he was sharing information ever again. How many times had he tried to have a debate with Lily only for it to end up with him just clamming up so she wouldn't punish him for at least the next week for the terrible sin of being right?

That warm feeling was back as his dark eyes met hers, and he swore her orange-green eyes were every bit as molten as his body, the fire in them seeming to leak out like radiant wisps of colour. This time, as his argumentative idiot of a brain attempted to protest yet again, he promptly kicked it to the kerb and let his heart do the driving for once. That glorious warmth—

The feeling of— was it love?

 _Could_ it be love? So quickly? So real?

While his mind's muffled protest that it was a trap and that she couldn't be trusted started to take a back seat at last, Severus tenderly groomed the Nundu-witch, covering her furry body with rapidly cooling stone. Her low thrumming purr seemed to spread throughout his body as the scent of fresh raspberries escaped her mouth, and a deep growl resonated from his throat. A foreign contented feeling settled in his soul, and he flopped onto his side.

She cuddled into his warm neck as that utter contentment turned to drowsiness, and the two of them fell sound asleep as their magic entwined. It danced across both fur and feather, scale and skin, and all things in-between before twisting around the other's until the cords could not be distinguished from each other.

Perhaps for the very first time, each of them slept secure in the warmth of companionship and a trust reforged from shattered pieces both had thought forever broken. There, underneath the sky and moon with nothing but the celestial to witness the event so random and yet so significant, Hermione Granger found friendship with Severus Snape.

And if the Headmaster's brow furrowed as he swore he heard the castle chuckling quietly to itself, no one noticed but the ever-attentive portraits.

Perhaps, had Albus not been too busy muttering to himself and stalking off to sleep, he might have noticed a rather satisfied-looking Phineas Nigellus Black steepling his fingers and drumming them together.

"You should never forget that Hogwarts is very much alive and always listening to those who live within Her walls, Headmaster. Sometimes, She even takes matters into Her own hands when a certain someone has been very, _very_ naughty, indeed."

Albus Dumbledore, however, had just taken a sleeping draught and was fast asleep.

Phineas' words of warning had fallen on deaf ears.

* * *

[ ](https://imgur.com/ObfcqTN)

Severus awoke to two startling phenomena— he was feeling _really_ good and there was a figure dressed head to toe in concealing white robes standing there in front of him. He stood at once, hackles raised, lava dripping from his maw as he placed himself firmly between the unknown interloper and Hermione— Hermione who was blissfully sleeping, or had been against him.

Hermione yawn-mrowled sleepily, lolling her tongue and exposing all of her teeth in a lazy show of all mouth as she arched her back and stretched, paws stretching out impossibly as dagger-like claws unsheathed and dug into the ground. Her long tail quivered with her stretching effort.

The figure splayed his hands in a peace-making gesture.

Hermione perked, nose working with effort as her whiskers twitched.

Suddenly her eyes grew wide, and she pounced the figure, knocking them flat into the ground.

_**PurrrrrrrTHUMP!** _

She rubbed all over them, their arms flailing in protest at the vigorous Nundu-handling. She bonked her head into his face, her teeth clacking against the metal mask that concealed their face.

The figure's gauntlet-covered hands moved to their face, and the mask disappeared to expose a rather startled-looking young man with dark skin and dark brown, warm eyes. "Hello there, my lady," the man said with a bit of protest at having the heavy weight of a large Nundu who wasn't fully grown but was still huge compared to a human.

Severus waded in, fury assuaged for the moment as he clamped his teeth around her scruff and pulled her off the interloper.

She mrowled unhappily, having not finished her instinctive desire to smother her scent all over the newcomer. She wriggled and went limp, the feel of him carrying her driving yet another instinct to allow herself to be moved when carried about by the scruff.

Severus contemplated setting her down but seemed conflicted as to if that was the wisest choice to keep her out of trouble. She _had_ been Gryffindor, after all. Gryffindors always found trouble face first. Even Lily hadn't been immune to that. Hell, he'd been Slytherin and trouble found him even when he was just trying to walk to class.

Severus sigh-whufted, his tail whipping from side to side. He set Hermione down, and she promptly tore off after his tail, pouncing it and getting a mouthful of irresistible fireproof feathers.

Severus shook his head. Well, at least _that_ kept her occupied.

The visitor sat up. "My name is Kingsley. Kingsley Shacklebolt. Kings for short. I work for the Department of Mysteries. My boss is currently speaking to the Headmaster—" he said, scratching his head. "Seems there was a strange time disturbance. A large surge of magic that occurred here last night. It's the kind of thing that has a lot of people scrambling."

Hermione drooped, ears flattened to her head.

Severus growled deeply. _No one_ was going to take Hermione away from him right after they'd found each other. Not after his heart had finally found something— some _one_ — who truly wanted to be his friend. He promptly herded Hermione underneath him and stood protectively over her, lava dripping from his jaws and starting to ooze all over his body. It dripped down over Hermione, and she playfully batted at it, sending molten rock flecks flying everywhere.

Kingsley, to his credit, dodged them quite nimbly.

Hermione, seemingly realising that her actions may have had unforeseen consequences, sat down with a sad-sounding mrrt.

"I suppose this _could_ go a bit easier with the proper context," Kingsley said, eyeing the patches of steaming freshly grown stone spikes. He cracked his neck and then his body seemed to shudder before it reformed into that of a rather vicious-looking hellcat. His powerful body was as sleek as a panther and dark as the night sky with just a hint of blue, but the tips of his neck hair were orange— no, they were _on fire_.

Literally.

His ears were long and pointed like a lynx's, with tiny flaming tufts.

 _Oooo! That's why he smells so good!_ Hermione said excitedly.

Severus scowled, his leg moving just so to keep her from repouncing Kingsley.

 _You smell even better though,_ she confessed, causing Severus to blush under his fur despite himself. She eyed Kingsley. _You're not here to take me away, are you?_

Severus growled again, stiffening.

 _That wasn't the plan, no,_ Kingsley replied rather sheepishly.

Hermione cautiously poked her head around Severus' leg. _He doesn't smell like a liar._

Snape sniffed, his nostrils flaring. _Hn. You may be right._

Kingsley shifted his weight awkwardly and then decided to sit down. _There was a temporal surge in this area. The head boss of me wants to know the precise nature of it and if it is a permanent thing._

Hermione stilled next to Severus, fear percolating in her stomach. She radiated pure distress, her mind in turmoil. _Wait. What year is this?_

Severus, tuning into her distress rather than her question, nuzzled her gently, coating her head in lava. She seemed to calm.

 _Nineteen seventy-five,_ Kingsley said, oblivious to the tinderbox that was Hermione's current emotional state.

 _No. No no no no. I've really mucked things up now. I've messed with time. I've—_ She bolted away as fast as her four legs could carry her into the deep dark woods.

Severus snapped his head back around to snarl at Kingsley, his teeth clacking so very close to the hellcat-wizard's flame-covered head. _You are a complete bloody imbecile! Does the Ministry teach you how to fuck things up so sodding well or did you come prepackaged with an exceptionally high level of oblivious!?_

 _I…_ Kingsley spluttered and slapped his face with one paw in dismay at his utter cluelessness. _Oh man,_ _I honestly thought she knew!_

 _She just fell out of the sky and landed on me last night, idiot! I don't think we had sufficient time to chat about any pertinent details like "Hey, what year is this?" or "Done any random time-travelling recently?"_ Severus spat out bits of molten lava with his vicious snarls, and spikes seemed to grow out of his body with his growing rage. His teeth seemed to elongate like those of a Smilodon and his claws scraped deep furrows in the ground. _I may not have known her for terribly long, but she has already been repeatedly shat upon by her own time, her moronic so-called friends, even her bloody headmaster. Surely if anyone had given a bloody damn about her, they would not have let her go off crying into the night to the point where magic itself decides she's better off here— with ME! So why don't you take that fancy arse uniform of yours and go get stuffed before you fuck things up even more than you already have!"_

Snape bounded off into the woods, his keen nose working furiously to track down the intoxicating scent of sweet black raspberries, freshly churned cream, and warm cinnamon buns, fresh from the oven. It was such a comforting, familiar scent as if it was imprinted upon his very soul.

Suddenly, his paws moved even faster as he realised just _why_ it was so familiar.

His Amortentia.

She was the origin of the scent he'd been so depressed to learn had not been Lily's—

It made sense— _now_.

The reason it had never been Lily was because Lily wasn't Hermione, and Hermione—

She hadn't fallen into his life… yet.

And he was going to lose her before he even got to wrap his mind around the fact she had been what he'd been wishing for ever since he was a very young boy: someone who could understand and accept him unconditionally.

He'd always thought it would be Lily.

No, he'd always thought it _was_ Lily.

But it hadn't been; they had a one-sided relationship ever since Lily discovered just how popular her looks and quick wit had made her.

She hadn't needed him, not anymore.

He'd begged her to forgive him after the absolute worst day of his whole miserable life, but she had flatly refused.

She blamed it on the word: Mudblood. She blamed Avery and Mulciber. She blamed his Slytherin "friends" and his dabbling in curses and hexes.

But really, he was done blaming.

He was done blaming Lily's inability to accept him for who he was— what he was.

He was done blaming Potter and his gang of idiots for every woe in his life.

Sure, they hadn't exactly helped things along, but Severus realised that in order to accept the future and the possibility that Hermione had been sent for a reason to him—HIM!—of all people, that he had to let go of the same anchor that had kept him flagellating himself year after year.

He was better than his father.

He was stronger than his mum.

He could be so much more than any of them ever believed possible.

He'd just needed a chance and—

Someone to _believe_ in him.

His paws carried him swiftly, and he barely comprehended how he wasn't tripping over his paws and claws on unfamiliar ground. His nose worked frantically to catch and keep the trail of the Nundu-witch. He was built for stamina and the long chase, and while he knew Black would be the first to say it was so he could run away longer, Severus knew—

He was built to pursue and devour.

Hermione, however, was still dripping with brand-new instincts, something he himself had had to deal with after almost killing off Lupin, Potter, Black, and Pettigrew in one fell swoop. Her niche was to stalk, pounce, and strangle— walking on silent padded feet that made but a bare whisper of sound.

Together, they could be and do so many amazing new things— a perfect complement to each other. She was an abundance of boundless enthusiasm and genuine emotion and he— well, he was an overprotective sort when it came to things he desperately wanted to keep, and he tempered his rage into a stony indifference, forcing himself to ignore th idiots so he didn't simply transform and murder them.

As much as they might deserve it.

He was trying very hard _not_ to be a homicidal embodiment of wrathful volcanic terror. It was such a terribly long thing to say, anyway.

Despite having only known her for relatively the blink of an eye, he had already realised that Hermione was incredibly important to him. She was _special_. Deserving of protection— of utmost care.

Even more oddly, he found he wanted to be the one to provide it.

It would have been all for Lily, had she given him a chance, but perhaps it was truly for the best that she didn't. Had he bound himself to Lily, he couldn't have found such a blessed peace with Hermione.

Had he not been wishing so hard for someone he could find a true friend in? A companion? Someone to understand him and accept him anyway?

Had the gods actually been listening?

Had Hogwarts?

Both?

Surely if they had, they wouldn't take Hermione away from him? Not now, after they had finally met? It had felt so natural— so very _right_.

The glorious feel of her against him, that blessed, comforting warmth— it was like a siren's call and a balm to his wounded soul. He'd not even realised how starved he'd been for that simple, glorious comfort of touch. The warmth of another's body against him— had been intoxicatingly soothing and invigorating.

Hell, sleep, _real_ sleep, had been something that had remained ever elusive until her—

Just the simple presence of her.

That shared restfulness had been more than anything he had experienced in the years at Hogwarts combined—

He couldn't let her run away.

He couldn't let her believe she had to be alone and abandoned by everything and everyone!

_**NO!** _

He would fight tooth and nail to keep her safe. Keep her happy. Be her friend.

Mistakes would be made, but he had no doubt that Hermione wasn't simply going to leave him in the lurch if they had an argument or even—

Even if he let some word slip his lips in anger.

No, Lily could and _would_ pack it in over the slightest provocation, so it really shouldn't have surprised him that she'd forsake their friendship over some foolish ideal.

As he caught her scent more strongly, his body adjusted, his claws scrambling to give him better purchase as he propelled himself forward. He scent, the hunt, the chase—

The sheer _**exhilaration!**_

He threw his head back and bayed … it was an incredibly unearthly thing that sounded of the very earth cracking open and great boulders grinding against another as if in protest.

He scented her—

Her—the sweet scent of black raspberries, fresh cream, and warm cinnamon buns— with that irresistible ambrosia, she called to him like no other.

It was then that he smelled the abrupt change in the air.

Her scent turned sour and angry. He saw all the dense webbing around him, and his fangs snapped viciously as his lava tore through the offending silk in a way that simple tension could not.

He saw her fighting under a massive wave of Acromantulas— for nothing else could possibly be _that_ big as an arachnid.

She was big, but they were many if not legion, and part of her was still too human while another part of her ran on pure instinct. She had not yet grown into her form, had time to digest it fully, or had learned to cope with it as he had after almost killing someone.

But as he watched her, his fury building that anyone or any _thing_ would dare attack her at all, he noticed she was growing bigger and bigger with every snarl and swat, and with her size came her emotion, and with that emotion came hate.

Pure, _violent_ hatred.

Her stature grew ever larger, spikes extending from her neck like a mane of daggers. Her throat swelled with her disease sacs within, and she spewed it outward in a roiling cloud of black-green as her claws swatted the smaller spiders away as one would a bludger with a beater bat.

The (admittedly cute) almost-pudginess of her half-grown Nundu form was quickly shed with the culmination of her anger, and the unrestrained hatred of the arachnids.

Acromantulas were notoriously single-minded when it came to acquiring food, but moreso, they had a keen love for humanity as dinner. They also, thanks to a rather eerie intelligence, honed that love for dinner into a tangible hatred for two-leggers who came around trying to drive them out. Much like crows and ravens who could recognise the person who fed them and the person who hurt them, Acromantulas held grudges, and it was obvious that this particular clutter held a very strong grudge against anything that came close to their nest. Any and everything, apparently, as now they were starting towards him, too.

A huge pile of dead and dying spiders writhed on the ground as her breath weapon took them, and he swiftly added to the stack as spider after spider swarmed toward him, having split the difference between feline and canine interloper.

" _ **My babies!"**_ a bulging female arachnid cried, pouncing on the Nundu's back as she was occupied dealing with the "children" and digging her fangs in. " _ **I will feed you to them!"**_ the spider cried.

Severus saw red as the edges of his vision seemed to narrow.

His jaws cracked as they seemed to grow bigger, dislocating to pop back in place to a changed jawline. He snarled, lava flecks sending the smaller spiders spinning as their bodies caught on fire. He slammed into the bigger one, teeth ripping and maiming as his claws slashed. He instinctively put his tail into his mouth, coating it in lava as the "feathers"glowed with fiery magic. He slashed his tail out like a whip, setting spiders to flame as he went. Fire burst from his body like a mane, and his skin seemed to crack and ooze lava. He roared as he ploughed into the line of spiders, setting the clutter, nest, and surrounding silk webbing on fire.

The agonised screams of dying spiders filled the air— some by fire, some by disease, some by both.

He ran up towards her, nuzzling and licking, coating her in his warm lava drool, and she seemed to calm, sides heaving, as she gave him a soft, curious mrowl.

_Severus?_

_Don't leave me._

_But—_

_Please, I couldn't bear it._

_But Kingsley said—_

_Sod what bloody Kingsley thinks he knows! The gods or Hogwarts brought you to us, to me, and I will not sit quietly in the night and let you run off and die by overgrown spider!_

Hermione head-bonked him, purring softly. _I didn't exactly plan on the spiders._

_Stay with me. Be with me. Please?_

Her eyes widened. _You'd— want me?_

_Are you mad? You're a brilliant, insane force of nature! How could I not?_

She fit, even with her bigger size, with her head tucked neatly under his. She snuggled into him, her paw wrapping around his scruff as she playfully chewed on his ears. _You have more teeth. They look quite handsome._

Severus stared at her. _You think my teeth look handsome?_

 _I'm very fond of teeth,_ Hermione confessed.

Severus realised he was quite fond of her, too, but not just her teeth. Instinct came back again, and he was grooming her back where the spider had tried to envenomate her. The lava bathed the wound, glowing and hissing as it seemed to gain a life of its own as it spread across her back and into her battle wounds, and she sighed with relief. The lava cooled and crackled, falling off, and she mrowled in pleasure, reciprocating by giving him a good grooming with her rough tongue.

Severus' eyes went a little crossed as the sensation pleased him, his brain telling him in no uncertain terms that he'd been missing _this_ all his life.

Reciprocation.

Gratitude.

Comfort.

The warmth of someone who trusted him—

He realised, too, that all thoughts of running off to join the Dark Lord fell on deaf ears when he knew what true acceptance felt like. He would defend her from all comers, defy the Dark Lord, whatever it took to keep her— Hermione— tucked against him where it felt right and wanted.

 _Please don't leave,_ he whispered. _I could not bear it._

Hermione's eyes were half-lidded as she enjoyed being tucked under his chin and against his warmth. _Not by choice._

 _Not ever,_ he emphasized.

She headbumped him. _I don't think I could if I tried. My heart is rather adamant that you are worth fighting for._

His breath seemed to catch in his throat as a shiver went down his spine. _I think my heart has told my mind to go get stuffed._

Hermione chucklepurred. _Mind doesn't care for me?_

_My brain and I aren't on speaking terms at the moment._

Suddenly, Hermione stiffened and she gave a roar as she pounced—

She landed on the giant spider that was crawling out of the nearby nest hole.

"You killed my mate! My children! I will KILL YOU BOTH!"

A swarm of young spiders skittered from behind the parent, springing forth with murderous intent as they were emboldened by their larger and more impressive father.

Severus growled, moving his tail into his mouth to coat it in lava. He leapt into the fray, unwilling to allow Hermione to fight alone, no matter how well she might do on her own. Any prior thoughts of self-preservation flew to the wayside as a far greater purpose spurred him on.

To help her was to save himself.

It was the ultimate self-preservation.

His lonely heart wanted a future where that warmth he had tasted was a regular occurance.

He wanted a world where that was accepted, normal even.

He'd fight for it— for _her_.

He saw her as he took down a second wave of aggressive spiderlings, her entire body shaking with effort as she sank her claws into the huge spider's body and poised to sink her fangs into the junction where the abdomen met the cephalothorax—

Suddenly part of a tree, the roots still hanging from it, smashed into her with a hard thwack of connection between bone, flesh, and tree. The young Nundu went flying off into one of the bigger tree trunks and connected with a loud crash as her limp body slid down from the bark and onto the ground.

" _ **You leave Aragog ALONE!"**_ a red-faced Hagrid yelled, waving a huge limb threateningly. " _ **He's my FRIEND!"**_

Severus smelled _blood—_

He saw Hermione's alarmingly still form lying sprawled at the base of the tree.

Years of pent up rage boiled up from within, manifesting as a vast pool of magma inside his body. His skin cracked as steaming rivulets of molten lava oozed out from the very pores of his skin. Everything Potter, Black, Pettigrew, or Lupin had ever done to him smouldered and seethed in the great lake of rage within him. Every last injustice. Every single time they had caught him out somewhere all alone as if by some odd form of omniscience—

A swath of seething red hazed his vision as every last molecule of his body seemed to turn to fire. His claws glowed red, orange, yellow and then white before turning blue-hot— the sheer heat of them turning hotter and hotter to the point of a raw, blinding intensity. The very ground seemed to whimper and shrink away from where he stood as the surrounding foliage burst into flames or turned directly to flyaway motes of ash. Rocks glowed and melted, turning molten from his very presence.

Before, he had been just a victim, struggling to fight a war of attrition against an entire gang. He had been driven to catch them in the act in the hopes of bringing some semblance of justice to his plight, but _now—_

Now, he was but a raging fiendfyre loosed from its chains. He was the great wolf, Fenrisúlfr, freed to battle Odin in Ragnarök. All he had ever wanted in life lay still and lifeless at the base of the tree. Comfort, warmth, simple acceptance— even a person who believed he was actually worth something.

She, too, was power. But, unlike the Dark Lord whose siren call was simple power and the will to use it, Hermione was power and the temper to use it as it was needed not on whim.

And even with that power, she had been bested by a half-giant wielding a bloody tree.

That said half-giant was giving a strangled cry of protest as a wave of spiderlings swarmed off the injured body of their father and attacked him, biting him all over and burying him with their combined mass.

" _ **Wait! NO! I helped you, I did! I'm your FRIEND!"**_

" _ **KILL!"**_ they all screeched. " _ **KILL!"**_

" _ **Everything that is not like US is FOOD!"**_

" _ **KILL!"**_

" _ **FEED!"**_

The spiders toppled the horrified half-giant down, covering him from head-to-toe like a living carpet of wriggling legs and merciless clacking fangs.

Severus looked at the still form of Hermione and then the form of the now downed half-giant who, at least in his wrathful state, deserved everything he was being given in spades.

Yet—

Hermione would not have wanted to see an innocent suffer— even if it was a misguided flaming _idiot_ who believed spiders made better friends than people. Even if Hagrid's innocence was somewhat debatable seeing as he was willing to take a tree to someone before discerning the facts of the matter—

Didn't Hagrid supposedly release the beast from the Chamber of Secrets? Wasn't _that_ why he was expelled only to have Dumbledore give him a job at the school?

The thoughts sobered him, quelling the part of him that wanted to destroy everything that got in his way—

Hermione would want him to live a good life, and he couldn't do that if he murdered Hagrid in lava, gnashing teeth, and burning claws.

Society frowned on it.

More importantly, Hermione would frown, and he didn't want that image burned in his memory as he rotted away in Azkaban.

Lava dripped from his body as he launched himself into the carpet of living spiders, everything he touched burning, hissing, cracking, and turning into eight-legged flaming arachnids.

Had he noticed, perhaps he would have seen the rain of centaur arrows coming down to assist him.

Perhaps, he might have seen one of the elder centaur kneeling down to tend to Hermione's castaway body.

Then, he might have seen Kingsley arriving with reinforcements, stylishly late—

But, no.

Severus was far too deep in the storm of utterly focused combat as he attempted to save one singularly foolish half-giant from his own, blind stupidity.

By the time the flames had been reduced to the odd circle that encompassed the previously teeming nest of bloodthirsty Acromantulas and a swollen and unconscious Hagrid had been hauled out of the fires by a grim-faced Professor Kettleburn and a team of Unspeakables, Severus slowly began to take in that he was no longer alone.

"Do allow the hound to lie beside his mate, Headmaster," the elder centaur said lowly, his weary voice rough and gravelly. "The bond between them will help them both to heal, and I assure you, you will not like what will happen should either of them fail to recover."

"They have done what we were not able to," a red roan stallion said. "Rid this forest of the arachnid menace that threatened our camps, our mares, and our foals."

The other centaur grunted and nodded in agreement, stamping their hooves in the char and ash.

"This land will be fertile again as the ash settles," another said. "We will be able to reseed the area and shelter in all seasons without the same fear for our foals."

"Thanks to them," a dappled grey stallion grunted as he put away his bow. He wiped the sweat from his brow as his tail flicked. "Perhaps the honeyguide bird will return to our forest now that the spiders have gone. We have not seen them in many seasons, ever since the half-giant set the first spider loose in the forest and then brought him a mate."

The headmaster paled and shifted rather awkwardly.

Amelia's eyes narrowed as she watched the hellbeast practically ooze over to the resting Nundu, nuzzling, licking, and snuggling against her, covering the almost-feline with a thick coat of lava drool as his tail wrapped around her and pulled her closer so his head could cover her back protectively.

"Hrm, grown a bit," Kettleburn noted as he assisted the Unspeakables with getting Hagrid on a floating stretcher. "I've repeatedly warned Rubeus about those damnable spiders since the day he was expelled, headmaster, and I warned _you_ about him sneaking his original spider in a mate too."

"We should speak," Amelia fixed Albus with a distinctly unfriendly look. " _Again_. Though I will also have to call in the Aurors to address the issue of the illegal breeding of unsanctioned animals as well. Exceedingly dangerous ones at that. While I realise Hogwarts has to some extent, autonomy regarding punishments to her staff as well as students, I cannot overlook the grave danger we have seen here today that could have and has threatened the lives of at least one known student and yet unknown witch of possible school age, not to mention the resident centaur herd—"

Amelia trailed off. "We have things we need to discuss, most assuredly. And that _will_ take precedence over the presence of the anomaly we discussed earlier."

"My Unspeakables will handle all negotiations and the gathering of facts from the centaur, if you do not mind, Headmaster."

Albus waved his hand. "As long as Admetos does not—"

"I do not," the elder stallion said calmly.

The Unspeakables were silent as they waited for the Headmaster and his staff to leave with Hagrid.

"Come, we will build shelters here for the night that they may rest peacefully," the centaur leader said. "Such tales of today belong in ballads and songs to be shared in story and verse until the very stars burn out. They deserve a little rest and consideration from us."

The centaur nickered together and set to work as Snape focused on nothing but Hermione's breathing as she lay snuggled up beside him.

The Unspeakables gathered to assist as they could, knowing well enough that it was a time for patience— especially one in particular whose track record had already been liberally strewn with misunderstandings.

* * *

"Even if the beast is truly a witch, Hogwarts does not accept transfer students," Albus said stubbornly as he crossed his arms across his chest. "We never have, I'm sorry."

"What the hell are you playing at, Albus?" Amelia asked, her slim brows furrowing in annoyance.

"Severus will _have_ to return to the Slytherin dormitories and resume his studies—"

"You've _**got**_ to be off your bloody rocker, Albus!" Kettleburn interjected. "He and his friend saved us all from the great Acromantula uprising and yet you want to quibble on whether there isn't paperwork to have her schooling at Hogwarts?"

"The beast hasn't even shown herself to be human," Albus argued.

"You doubt my word?" Kingsley asked, incredulous, his face twisting in sheer disbelief.

Amelia shot Kingsley a look, and the Unspeakable closed his eyes, biting his tongue.

"You are playing a very dangerous game, Albus," Amelia said darkly. "The kind of game that will get you burned."

"If the beast was a familiar, it would be a different matter, but you said yourself that it is actually a witch, and if that is so, then she _cannot_ remain here at Hogwarts. Even if what you claim is true, there are no accommodations we can make for preternatural mating bonds, and even that is based purely on hearsay from the centaur."

"Mr Snape has done nothing but bend over backwards to help with multiple entanglements, Albus," Amelia pointed out. "Witnesses said that even when he could have rightly torn Rubeus to pieces, he didn't. Instead, he chose to save him from his own ignorance. A staff member, I might add, who used a tree trunk as a weapon and attacked someone with it. Instead of trying to find excuses for why you cannot take on a witch who was very likely brought her by Hogwarts itself, maybe you should be explaining to Mr Hagrid why he is going to be brought before the Wizengamot for attacking a minor child with a bloody tree."

Albus shifted his weight uneasily. "I have a responsibility to the families and children that have been here, Amelia—"

"Enough of your posturing, Dumbledore," Admetos said, stomping his hoof against the flagstones with a bell-like resonance. "I tire of your honeyed words that say one thing and have it come back to bite us just like the Acromantula. We of the Dark Forest Herd shall adopt her into our number, and we will teach her the healing arts. It is our sovereign right to do so, and if the hound wishes to visit his mate, we shall welcome it."

"Admetos, it's been hundreds of years since—"

"Since anyone has been found worthy of such a thing," the centaur leader pointed out. "There was always some doubt as to if a fragile human could even survive in a centaur's world, but she has already proven herself as a skillful hunter. She has already been blooded by the enemy, stood firm against attacks of both humans and known enemies of the herd. She has been abandoned by her own kind … for even _you_ , Headmaster, seem all too eager to see her callously cast aside and banished from this place. So if she chooses to bind herself to our herd, our own magic, and our 'primitive' ways, then we shall welcome her."

"It sounds like an excellent solution to me," Amelia said approvingly, watching Albus pale and gape like a fish with no little satisfaction.

"But— she's a minor!" Albus immediately protested.

" _Now_ you wish to stand up for her?" Amelia asked, arching an eyebrow.

"We shall adopt her. She has no family here to speak of. It is our way and our right," Admetos said firmly. "No foal should be so alone, and it is clear that some humans wish to see her harmed, not only due to what brought her here but also in how she has been spoken of. It is obvious to the centaur that she and the hound are bound by powerful fate, and to separate them would do ill to both. That you wish to do so in spite of this makes us question the wisdom of honouring our treaty, were it not for the safety of our foals."

"As long as we are allowed to check on her from time to time, Admetos?" Amelia requested. "I can finalise the formalities of the adoption with the Ministry."

Admetos stomped one hoof in agreement. "You may."

Albus, if he had any further protests, at least remained silent.

* * *

"Where you going, Snivellus?"

Black.

Even without his previously pretty voice, Sirius Black seemed to have a deathwish desire to continue heckling him.

Severus kept right on walking, saying nothing.

"Awww, so Snivellus has nothing to say? That's okay. I know you were using some kind of Dark magic on us that night, Snivellus. You _hurt_ us, and for some reason good old Dumbles seems to think we need to keep quiet about it, but we know the truth, don't we? We know you tried to kill us with some kind of Dark curse and now you have Dumbles covering your stupid Slytherin arse."

Black's voice had been bloody annoying from day one, but it managed to reach even greater heights of annoyance with its scratchy harshness. When the boy's voice had become that silken weapon against the female gender, people had started to think that Black had bedded every witch with a pulse well before he'd turned sixteen— if not for his voice but his family's extensive Gringotts vault.

Potter, as annoying as he was, was just a wizard with friends— the kind of friends who thought the ruddy sun itself shone out of his arse. He was only strong because his group of likeminded imbeciles made him strong, and any personal strengths (or the lack thereof) he might have didn't matter nearly as much because he was part of a mob.

He did, at least begrudgingly, admit that Potter and his mates did have some talent. They had all become Animagi without getting trapped in their newfound animal forms, and they had managed to track Severus down time and time again, always knowing when he was alone and where to find him. That he couldn't figure out what they were up to, track them, or even realise they had been studying to become Animagi in all that time—

Well, they hadn't exactly realised he had been studying it, either, now had they?

Mind you, his first shift had been all about sheer desperation to avoid death via werewolf—

But it had not been a small shift in the slightest—

Still, even while Dumbledore had seemingly protected his reputation so he did not get expelled, he had also protected Potter and his mates. There was really no winning ground other than Hermione had fallen out of nowhere and into his life.

He had to admit that was no small thing. Her arrival had heralded the end of Severus Snape, at least, the bitter young wizard who had nothing to lose by joining with the Dark Lord on a path to supposed power—

Now, he had every possibility to fight for. He might struggle. He might even fail, but damn if he wasn't going to give it his all to hang on to the blessing he had been given. He just hoped—she was just as patient with him when he inevitably had another major insert boot into mouth moment.

Severus narrowed his eyes at Black, but he had learned that raising to the bait and saying something was only encouraging him. He turned the other cheek and continued to walk into the forest.

"You can't go in there, Snivellus," Black said smugly. "It's _forbidden_."

Severus felt the tug of a smile on his lips as he confidently strode forward into the darkened woods.

* * *

Sirius wasn't about to let Snivellus get the best of him.

He got lucky with his curses, and maybe fear wasn't the best way to get him. He had to admit making himself look like a slavering beast while he cursed them was pretty impressive, but everyone knew that real Animagi were normal animals. It was just some grand illusion to cover up the fact that Snivellus was a Dark wizard and had more curses thanks to his Slytherin mates.

Regulus was probably teaching him, the bastard.

They were all a bunch of bloody Death Eaters in the making.

Prongs told him to leave it alone— that it could have been a lot worse, that he should never have put Snivellus' life in danger with Moony, that it endangered Remus' life.

Sirius, however, wasn't having any of that bullshite. Snivellus _deserved_ to pay for what he did, messing up Prongs' arm, Moony's leg, slicing off Wormtail's hand and foot, and stealing his voice! No, Snivellus would pay dearly for what he'd done. Sirius would see to that.

* * *

Severus suddenly found himself flat on his back with a face full of spotted fur and whiskers and remarkably white pearlescent fangs.

"Hullo," he said rather meekly, his hand reaching up to rub her chin and her velvety ears.

Hermione purred with satisfaction and flopped herself upon him, pinning him down more than effectively. In a rush of warmth, her Nundu form melted away, and a young witch dressed in centaur "normal" peered down at him, her long curly hair hanging from her head like a cascade of water. "Hi."

The look in her whisky-coloured eyes moved something inside him every time. _Trust_. It made it hard to breathe knowing such a thing actually existed for him. The centaur believed they were mates, but Severus was still trying to wrap his mind around having a friend who didn't up and leave him the moment his temper got out of hand. He admitted that he was very protective of her, and that he slept like it was the first good sleep he'd had in decades whenever she was tucked against him, but he did not dare assume anything more than that.

To simply be able to touch her— and have her slender form (or large, furred and spotted for that matter) pressed snugly against him. It was more than he'd ever had in his entire life. That she could accept his scarecrow self or large and lava prone self— it was more than he expected from anyone.

That she seemed to understand being outcast while surrounded in people—

It was not something he could ever seem to explain to Lily.

She never understood that he felt alone with those friend she accused him of "encouraging horrible things."

It was true Avery and Mulciber were hardly good people, but she had no faith in his ability to choose the better path.

Then again, perhaps she was right.

Until a certain Nundu had fallen upon him, all of his choices had been quite focused, if not selfish: to get back at Potter and his mates and come out ahead.

"How are your studies coming along, Severus?" Hermione asked.

Severus sighed. "Fine, I suppose. I've gone over and over the subjects, and I hardly see the point in rereading what I know by heart."

"Tests always made me very nervous," Hermione confessed. "I would always read and reread just in case I missed something."

"Please tell me you aren't pining over lost books while you are here in the forest learning how to heal?"

Hermione frowned. "I do miss having access to books, but I am learning quite a lot from Mossfoot and all of the other centaur, really."

Severus sighed as he realised she hadn't let him up. "Could you please let me up?"

Hermione smiled at him. "As you wish."

She rolled off him and the hair ornament taming her hair tinkled softly. He noticed with a jolt that she had woven the small (polished from years of worry) stone into her ornament to carry it with her. He'd carried that stone with him for years, having found it on a rare trip to the ocean when he'd been a small boy. There had been a small hole worn naturally into the stone, but he had never worn it openly.

She did, however, proudly wear his gift as if daring anyone to say anything about it. It was terribly Gryffindor, but he couldn't find it in himself to be cutting about it. It was … touching.

He'd once crafted a pendant with a shrunken moonlily in it— the flower rare in itself— for Lily. He'd worked weeks on it to put the right charms on it so it would not wilt, break, tarnish, or scratch.

She'd never once worn it, simply tucked it away in her book bag after a token thanks.

The stone was, by far, less beautiful. It was simply a pretty stone he'd picked up from the beach and carried around with him for years.

But Hermione wore it like it was worth so much more to her than the finest of diamonds, and she would often tilt her head fetchingly and touch it as she thought of something.

"You're wearing it."

Hermione tilted her head, nose wrinkling. She touched the stone dangle. "Of course. You gave it to me."

"But— you're wearing it."

Hermione gave him a strange look. "Of course, I'm wearing it. You gave it to me." She paused, frowning. "Did you not want me to? Have I offended you?"

Severus paled. "No! I just— it surprised me is all. It, it means a lot to me that you'd wear it. Out in the open."

Hermione smiled at him, and he felt a warmth spread from his toes and work upward. "Of course, I would. It's special to me. No one has ever given me something they've carried with them for years. It reminds me of you. It feels like a piece of you."

Severus felt the corners of his mouth lighten into a smile without his permission, but the radiant smile he received in return made it all worth it.

"What have you been studying today?" he asked.

"Poultices for drawing out poison and infection," Hermione said. "Also, pain relief and numbing."

"Sounds interesting. A lot like potions."

Hermione nodded. "I used to like potions a lot but—"

"But?"

"My teacher did not like me at all. He called me cruel things and an insufferable know-it-all." Hermione seemed introspective. "I suppose I probably deserved it with all my frantic hand waving. I just wanted to do well— to prove myself. Prove that I belonged."

Severus scowled. "He sounds like a real bastard."

Hermione's eyes widened. "He was a teacher!"

"Still a bastard."

Hermione frowned. "I think I must have disappointed him or something. My other teachers— they liked me just fine."

"Don't try to rationalise it," Severus sniffed. "Sometimes someone being an arse simply means they're an arse. Even if you were hand waving—" He scowled at that. "That is pretty annoying, actually. Why would you do that?"

Hermione blushed. "I really knew the answer."

"Maybe, he wanted someone that didn't know the answer to wake up. You obviously did know it. You study properly." He wrinkled his nose. "I never want to be a teacher. Ever."

Hermione frowned. "Really?"

"I cannot stand my peers. I would never wish to teach them anything."

Hermione seemed to have an epiphany. "Maybe that was why he was so— grumpy. My classes had a lot of people who didn't want to be there. They absolutely hated potions."

"Potions is an art. Not everyone is cut for it." Severus pointed out. "People can do the basics, but the more complex potions require an intense focus— something most teenagers do not have."

"You have focus."

"I did say most," he replied, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

Hermione smiled at him. "What did you want to do after your N.E.W.T.s?"

Severus looked down, seeming to give the question considerable thought. "I—" He stared at her.

Hermione looked at him expectantly.

"I believe I would like to study for a mastery," he said. "If I study potions, I could open my own business making custom potions."

Hermione's hair seemed to stand straight on end. "That's wonderful, Severus! I think you'll do well at whatever you put your mind to."

Severus looked down. "I was thinking maybe, if it went well, I could get a place in Hogsmeade. That old place no one wants because it's too close to the Shrieking Shack. It has a bit of land that leads to the forest. You— the centaur— could visit easily."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Me?"

Severus stared at his knee. "You wouldn't have to, bu—"

"Of course I would!" Hermione exclaimed.

Severus flushed a little, quite unused to someone being so enthusiastic about making plans to see him. "Would you, I mean, might you consider—oh, sod it all—Go with me to Hogsmeade for tea and there is this bookshop," he trailed off mumbling.

"When?"

Severus swallowed hard. "Tomorrow?"

Hermione smiled. "I'd love to."

Severus stared at his lap unsure what to say or do next after her acceptance. He hadn't exactly expected acceptance. What did one _**do**_ after the person they were interested in actually said… yes?

"The evening meal is about to be prepared," one of the colts said. "Shadeside and Rain are calling for you, herd-sister."

"Oh! I must go help!" Hermione said. "So sorry, Severus! Will you stay for the evening meal? Thanks, brother!"

"I, er," Severus stammered.

"Of course he will," the colt said, thumping Severus on the head.

"Be careful with his head, Bane!" Hermione cried as she scurried off. "Human skulls are fragile!"

Bane shook his mane. "Could have fooled me. Seems like human heads are pretty thick."

Severus eyed Bane a bit warily. The colt was, as best estimation, a teen much like himself, but centaur were by far physically stronger, taller, and more prone to physical violence. It wasn't that they went around beating each other to death, but they often tested each other with the other young colts, practicing the skills they would need to defend the camps from all comers.

Bane was, out of all the colts, one of the most powerful and abrasive. He was also very protective, and while he did not come out and actually say it, his protectiveness of Hermione was already very strong. Firenze seemed calmer about everything, his head to the stars and into his studies more than Bane. Magorian, however, was an evaluator. He watched everyone and everything intently, carefully gauging everything before doing anything. Once he made a decision, he stuck to it.

Admetos' adoption of Hermione had made her a sister to all the foals of the herd, but this was especially true for Magorian, and Magorian took everything seriously. His watchful eye seemed to weigh Severus' soul for the Afterlife every time he saw him as if he were waiting for him to make some grand mistake that would allow him the excuse to kick his skull in.

Yet, even so, Severus understood that protectiveness and did not feel uncomfortable or unwelcome with the centaur. From the stories they passed by the fire at night, humans had long treated the centaur as nothing but beasts, and even the Headmaster seemed to weave the peace treaty to his favour rather than attempt to benefit both sides equally. In fact, when given the choice of being grouped as beings with vampires and hags, the centaur preferred to be called beasts. In reality, they felt neither classification was appropriate, but no one was really listening to the centaur.

The more Hermione embraced the centaur ways, the more confident she became, and it seemed she flourished learning healing with the centaur and the way the centaur did everything from the societal niceties to hunting and gathering. Hermione had to learn their own customs of hunting, albeit slightly altered to accommodate her unique feline hunting prowess. In fact, they had adjusted their hunting parties to include her, and she had adapted to work in a team, with her taking down startled prey when an arrow missed.

Far fewer failed hunts made the centaur very happy, and it gave them considerably more time to work on the repair and maintenance of their camp as well as tanning hides and other such chores that were the mainstay of their livelihood.

While Severus studied hard for his upcoming N.E.W.T.s, Hermione was learning healing hands-on, something that simply wasn't possible at Hogwarts. Severus began to teach her his lessons from Hogwarts whenever they were together, his playing the role of teacher to help him remember what he had learned and her to learn since she could not attend Hogwarts herself.

Teaching, he realised, wasn't so bad when the audience was Hermione. He wondered who the bastard was that hurt her feelings but decided it wouldn't matter. He would teach her what she needed to know, and she would show them all that she didn't need Hogwarts or the headmaster's approval to succeed.

Amelia Bones had been checking in on Hermione each week to give her study work outside the scope of centaur teaching, but Hermione seemed to truly enjoy his teachings. She would listen attentively and take in his movements, sometimes a flicker of something would pass across her face as if she remembered something but then it would pass and she was back to listening again.

He would often read to her as they shared his books, and she would lean into him, closing her eyes as she listened to his every word. Yet, he knew she wasn't sleeping because if he asked her a question, she would always reply immediately. It was such a strange thing having someone so close and comfortable, wanting nothing more than his company or at the most someone to read to her. Even when they bickered over some random theory or movement or swish versus flick, she would concede if she realised she was wrong and smile at him with that oh-so-warming look.

Every so often, he'd be reminded of the fact that Hermione hadn't come from an ideal past, either, and while he was sure at least her parents hadn't been like his, she had lost her family all at once. What friends she may have had had driven her into an emotionally driven change into a Nundu— not exactly a point for great confidence in the quality of friendship.

He could relate.

At the same time, he couldn't fathom how someone couldn't appreciate that radiant warmth.

"They didn't really know I was a girl," she'd said once. "I think it was more of an us versus them. You were either a part of the group or you weren't anything, but they really only came to me for homework help."

"To copy your hard work, you mean," he'd replied, his lip curling with disdain.

Hermione had slumped a little. "I truly thought they were my friends. And I wanted to help them."

"It has to be a team effort to be a real friendship," he said as he realised it had been something he'd been struggling with about Lily, but even Lily had her moments when they had worked on a mutual project. Lily, at the least, could stand on her own with homework. Her potions work often had her visiting him, but she excelled at charms. She at least put forth the effort to study, which made her less like the scrambling dunderheads who waited until the very last minute for everything.

They just couldn't—

Severus sighed. He and Lily just couldn't see eye to eye. Perhaps they never really had. He had cherished her because she had been his very first friend, and he had done everything he could to preserve that in his heart and mind only to get a true taste of what compassion felt like.

_Tenderness._

_Closeness._

From a stranger, he had never met.

From a traveller from a different time.

Now, that young Nundu-witch was an adopted centaur, and her name amongst the centaur was Whiskers, for while the stallions might have facial hair, they did not have the long, stabby whiskers that a certain Nundu did. That was her common name, anyway. The name used privately amongst this particular herd was Atalanta, which had its roots in ancient Greek meaning huntress. Both were quite fitting, Severus thought.

"Nisyros," Bane said, gesturing with his head. "If you wish to take our herd sister out for courtship, you must provide a hide suitable to dress her. Olive has already prepared something fitting for outside the forest, but you must replace the hide she used to make it.

Severus' eyes widened. He hadn't even thought of what she'd wear out in public. He had figured she'd just transfigure something like most witches liked to do in a pinch—

Well, to be honest, he hadn't even thought that far at all. He hadn't really thought she'd even agree!

"The mares and fillies are preparing the evening meal, but if you help me bring down a decent red deer, the meat and the hide will impress Olive and then, of course, Admetos will approve of your providing for her, and they will allow her to leave the forest for your meeting."

Severus swallowed hard. He had not hunted alone— oh, he had the instincts, sure, but he had not been hungry since coming to Hogwarts. He had curbed that instinct with satiety.

"We shall hunt with you," Magorian said as he trotted up with Firenze and Ronan.

Severus realised this was to be a true hunt— and the success of which would either bring the young stallions in as full hunters or paint them as failures. They were trusting him to lead the way to success.

No pressure.

No, not at _all_.

"You have already taken down many a giant spider, our deadliest enemies, but this hunt is to bring meat to the larders, sinew for sewing and bows, and skins or fur depending on if we get a sizable stag or a hind."

"Come Nisyros," Firenze said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Let us do our herd-sister the greatest honour by bringing success back to the herd."

Severus squared his shoulders and nodded. "I'm ready."

Magorian eyed him. "We shall see."

* * *

Severus was built to pursue; he knew this in his bones.

He had helped to box in the herd of red deer, allowing the young stallions to take their best aim, but when the largest stag bolted from the clearing, Severus was after him like a shot. The stallions may have gotten their deer, but Snape's eyes were fixed solely on the stag.

Something about the stag—

He tore after it, his feet barely touching the ground as he blazed a trail through the forest.

The stag was quick, but he was already wounded— perhaps from an earlier fight with another stag. The sound of the stag's laboured breaths drove him onward. Each leap was getting slower and shorter, but Severus didn't even feel winded. This was what he was built for.

When the stag stumbled, that was all the cue Severus needed, and he was on the animal in a flash, teeth flashing as they snapped around the stag's throat like a bear trap.

_**Thuuuk!** _

_**THUUCK!** _

_**ShhhhhhTHIK!** _

Three arrows hit the stag in directly the heart, putting an end to the huge animal's suffering.

Severus lay there, panting, his jaws still clenched around the stag's throat as if afraid if he let go that the animal's antlers would come to life and skewer him.

Magorian dipped his fingertips in the blood and painted their foreheads with a mark that went down the nose. "First great hunt brings home success to our people," he said. "We thank the spirit of our prey for the life it brings us, the warmth of their hides, and the strength of their bones. We are now truly brothers in the eyes of the Huntress. May Her blessings keep us safe and fed but our prey without undue suffering, for without our prey we cannot eat and without us, the prey would sicken and starve."

They all bowed their heads in silence for a few minutes.

Magorian snorted, stomping his front hoof. "Come, let us carry this back to the others. We will field dress and carry our hunts back to the camp."

"Already speaking like a leader, Magorian," Bane chuckled.

Firenze shook his mane. "He's welcome to it. Leading requires eyes on both sides of the head. I feel well enough with one set skyward to the stars and planets."

"Let us place the stag upon Nisyros' back that he might carry it easier," Ronan suggested.

Severus stood and shook himself off, allowing them to place the stag over her back. He tested his walk and balance and then traced his wild run back to where the herd had once grazed.

* * *

By the time they arrived back in the camp, it was dark, the soft glows of the fires welcoming them along with the smell of woodsmoke and cooking. The tang of cooked apples and camp bread teased the nose, and the new hunters seemed relieved to return to the prospect of a feast.

When Severus brought his buck to Mare Olive, she gave him such a knowing look even as she accepted it. Admetos welcomed back the new hunters, painting their faces with ceremonial colour and bid them to take their place around the main fire as befit the true hunters of the herd.

The meat was hung in the earthen larder to await processing, and the hides were thoroughly cleaned and soaking in the tanning mixture soon after the evening meal, no time wasted.

But it wasn't the approval of the herd's newest group of hunters, Hermione's brother Magorian, or even Admetos himself that made Severus' heart flutter.

Hermione's warm smile as she handed him a bowl of food and the soft touch of her fingers against his— "Congratulations, Nisyros." She blew softly against his cheek near his nose as was centaur custom. "Severus," she whispered softly.

"Atalanta," he said against her ear, breathing ever so softly against her cheek. "Hermione."

She leaned against him as they ate together by the fire.

It was all he needed.

Peace settled in his heart and stomach, and he realised he would move mountains to keep it there.

Even, he figured, let go of the hatred he had carried for years.

Let Potter think he won as he curled himself around Lily like a Venomous Tentacula.

Let Lily think he was Dark and evil.

Let Black curse his name, Lupin piss himself, or Pettigrew count his limbs every time they saw him.

He would turn the other cheek.

For _Hermione_.

As the centaur settled in for the night, Admetos snuggled up against his mate and looked over to where the hound and the feline curled up together by the fire. His lips curved upward in a knowing, smug smile.

"Will you allow her to leave the forest tomorrow?" Euterpe asked.

"Courtship seems so lost upon them, but if Nisyros wishes to follow human customs as well, then I will humour him. He has already proven himself the hunter and protector."

His mate chuckled at him, tutting. "There is nothing wrong with a little courtship even when the stars and planets have everything in hand. Is it not the journey that is just as important as the destination?"

"My words back at me, love?"

"The better to smite you with," she replied smoothly.

"You miss little, Euterpe," Admetos said with a whicker.

"Beware the dog," she sighed cryptically.

Admetos frowned. He was about to ask her what she meant, but her eyes were closed and she was already breathing deeply, fast asleep.

* * *

 **A/N:** Words are _hard_ , people! Muses are fickle! Writing schedules suck when I and my beta can't seem to be awake at the same times! _**ARGH, BOOTERANG!**_

Hope you enjoyed this little jaunt into my crazy mind. See you next time!

Please thank Dragon and the Rose for propping up her eyelids to beta this fic.


	2. Chapter 2: Not as Dead as You Thought

**Summary:** AU/Crack, SSHG, Severus has kept his Animagus form on the quiet ever since the night he nearly tore Moony to pieces in self-defence. Every so often though, he just needs to go out for a bloody walk and enjoy the cool night air. That was the way it was supposed to work, anyway.

 **Beta Love:** Publishing Unsupervised! _**AHHHHH!**_

_Guess again, birdie! - Dragon_

Dang, Dragon and the Rose caught me _**again!**_

**Warning: Graphic violence and bloody mayhem in this chapter.**

* * *

**The Hellhound and the Nundu**

Chapter 2

_Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance is an act of justice._

**Samuel Johnson**

* * *

James woke up soaked in a cold sweat accompanied by a yell of fright as he felt phantom teeth close around his neck, followed by the life draining out of him.

He panted, wiping his brow.

Merlin, it had felt so real.

It was the terrifying kind of reality that had his entire life spinning by in excruciating detail.

Every last prank he had ever done.

Every single time he had seriously fucked with someone and raucously laughed it off as nothing.

Every time he'd used his parents' money for stupid, frivolous things just so he could look as good as Sirius—

James rubbed his head uneasily, raking his fingers through his messy mop of black hair. It was already pretty late. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and he wanted to take Lily out to Madam Puddifoot's and maybe _**not**_ act like the sodding toerag she was utterly convinced he was.

He threw on clean trousers and a shirt before pulling his student robes on over them. He'd really have to hustle to make it down to the carriages before they left the grounds.

He grabbed his money pouch, wand, and travelling cloak making a note in his head to buy Frank a new cloak after he had pranked him with those extra-strength dung bombs that blew a huge hole through it, completely ruining his old one. After the awful nightmare he just had, he was starting to see that maybe he could have been using his money in places that improved things instead of making people dismiss him as a no-good prankster.

Alice wasn't the only one not speaking to him after, and perhaps the only reason people laughed around him was to avoid being pranked by him later—

Well, things weren't going to get better unless it worked on them, and by Merlin, he was going to try.

Those horrible phantom teeth clamping around his neck—

Maybe he would start out by telling Lily and the others the truth that they'd gone and mucked things up and got hurt, and it hadn't been Snilvellu—Snape's fault at all. Sure, they went back and forth with trading nasty hexes and curses trying to get ahead of the other, but James knew he'd always tried to hit Snape hard, nearly always making it four against one, while using the map to make sure the coast was clear so he and his mates would never get caught—

They'd tried to save face by making up some great story on how Snape had used Dark curses against them—

But even James knew that Sirius had gone way too far by trying to use Remus as a weapon. Sirius meant to kill Snape and James had to admit that had really bothered him deep down.

He called it a prank, but a prank didn't set someone up to become a werewolf—or be torn apart and killed.

Ever since Snape had almost torn him limb from limb—the only thing that had saved him had been quickly shifting to his Animagus form and running for his bloody _**life**_.

That tactic had only worked because Wormtail had run slower but had been so sure that his rat form would somehow be quicker and faster than a stag—

Wormtail had lost a hand and a foot for that massive error in judgment, the sound of teeth snapping as flesh gave and bones crunched—

He would _**never**_ forget that sound mixed with Peter's shockingly shrill rat-screams.

Remus would probably walk with a limp for the rest of his life after Moony had foolishly refused to back down from the ensuing war of dominance and was forcibly reminded that there were, in fact, much bigger and badder things than werewolves out there. Myth spoke of the Tibicena or the Guacanchas—the demonic dogs that wore the shape of great wild dogs but were actually the ferocious offspring of a wrathful deity.

Mythical they might have been, but had they seen for themselves just what they had created in pushing Snape to the point of facing death via werewolf—

Perhaps, it wasn't a myth at _**all**_.

Sirius would call it Dark magic, but it hadn't been.

It had been concentrated, desperate, but incredibly powerful wild magic—the kind of thing a child might do on accident in a fit of pique only far, far more lethal.

The nightmare continued to haunt him.

It was so real.

He'd been out there clashing with another stag, determined to get the upper hand, the smell of the hinds driving him nearly insane with lust-fueled violence. He'd smelled the hinds all around him, but the battle was all important—

They had gone head to head, antlers to antlers, driving the other back and forth until James had finally gotten the upper hand and gored the older stag's right shoulder. His own healing injuries had been forgotten in the heat of that overpowering need to prove himself the victor.

Then the great beast had come into the dream like a nightmare made form. His instincts told him to flee, and he and the other buck had parted in the driving rush to escape. Stag and hinds fled like fleas off a burning animal, far more desperate to live than to mate.

He and the other buck had run side by side, leaping their way through the brush and brambles at breakneck speed.

He heard the other buck stumble, and he felt his comrade in terrified flight go down under tooth and claw, feeling the dying buck's spirit brush by him as he tore away, zigging and zagging blindly in fear and survival.

But he had felt the clamp of jaws around his neck as he woke—

Felt himself _dying—_

Almost as if the spirit of the other stag had gifted him a taste of mortality mixed with his own worst fears made horrifyingly real.

"He can't be _**DEAD!**_ He _**CAN'T**_ be! He's too much of a bloody _**ARSE**_ to go and _**DIE**_ like that!"

"It was bloody _**SNAPE!**_ He _**MURDERED**_ James! I know it! I _**SAW**_ it! He murdered him in cold blood and fucking _**ATE**_ him!"

White-faced people were staring in shock and some lost the battle with their stomachs and hurled in the hallways as a squad of grim-faced Aurors drove the horrified children back.

Snape's face had gone as white as alabaster, but his knuckles were even whiter as his fingers clenched into bloodless fists.

"Hogsmeade weekend is postponed until we get this sorted, everyone!"

Cries of distress and anger mixed with groans of disgust and shocked whispers," McGonagall said sternly as she herded the children away.

_Whum._

_Whum._

The beat of great wings sounded off across the green.

_**BRRRRIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESH!** _

A monstrous _**SCREEE**_ reverberated through the castle, making the very foundations of Hogwarts resonate in response.

_Thump!_

Crimson and black wings folded as the snarling face of what might have been a bat had it flown into a twister with a dragon and forgotten that such pieces were not meant to go together.

_**HRRRRRRRRRRRRAGHH!** _

The dragonbat's screech caused a rain of pebbles to fall. He wing-walked towards the school, and a wave of knee-knocking fear seemed to hang upon him, rolling across his body and into the crowds, driving them backwards. He shook some dust off himself along with bits and pieces of random plant matter.

James felt a dampness begin to run between his legs, the instinctive fear he felt was an undeniable thing.

"Things must be… dire indeed for you to call _me_ here, Alastor," the great dragonbat rumbled.

"There has been an alleged murder, Manfred. We need you to confirm whether or not there is remnant of a fractured soul to clear Mr Snape from the deed he has been accused of."

The dragonbat's muzzle wrinkled in a half-snarl, his black eyes boring a hole into Snape. "There is no fracture in _this_ boy—only a remarkably tight bond of magic the likes of which would make most purebloods writhe in jealousy."

"He's _**full**_ of Dark magic!" Sirius hissed furiously. "He's a _**murderer!"**_

Manfred growled lowly, his head swinging around to look Sirius in the face—down, down, down his muzzle to stare intently at the much smaller human boy.

"A Black," the dragonbat snarled. "I would recognise _that_ foul mix of tainted magic and profound mental instability anywhere."

He carefully shifted his weight to scan Sirius thoroughly.

"You, however, boy—you _**DO**_ have a partially fractured soul. Tried to murder someone lately, Black? Ah, but unsuccessfully, perhaps? And more than once, it seems. Recently too."

Frightened whispers spread throughout Hogwarts like wildfire, all bearing the name of one stunned-looking Sirius Black.

"This conversation needs to take place in my office," Dumbledore said abruptly, cutting them off.

"I do not believe I will fit in there, Headmaster," Manfred rumbled.

Dumbledore seemed to press his lips together even more tightly. "I believe the Aurors and I can handle the discussions from here on out."

Manfred's expression was positively thunderous, something that made his already monstrous face seem a hundred times scarier.

Auror Moody seemed to realise something was going to die, and it wouldn't be murder as much as collateral damage. "Master Morgan, thank you for assisting us here today. If you would not object to being—erm—shrunken down?"

The dragonbat lifted a brow, his fury somewhat appeased.

"I'm sure that won't be nece—" Dumbledore began to say.

"I called him here, Albus," Moody said. "To be sure there was no taint upon Mr Snape. After all, it was Mr Black who called me here, demanding I arrest Mr Snape for murder of his friend. He called in the formal challenge. Something you _know_ I cannot ignore."

Dumbledore shot Sirius a hard look. "I see."

"But, seeing as I cannot ignore the fact we have an actual soul fracture, even if partially, this _must_ be addressed."

Sirius looked rather angry, his face beet red, and his fists clenched, but when Master Morgan's muzzle twisted into a snarl as he glowered at the young wizard, there was the distinct odour of piss that did not come from Master Morgan's side.

Morgan looked back at Alastor. "I will submit to your shrinkage, Auror Moody, but if you should shrink me too small, I will infect your blood with millions of blood-borne dragonbats."

Moody coughed. "I won't. I could—transfigure you into a human form."

Master Morgan looked at the Auror suspiciously. "Humans are so—fragile."

"I'm better at transfiguration than shrinking spells."

Morgan let out a weary sigh. "As you wish, but I reserve the right to bite you later if this doesn't work."

"You realise your bite is venomous and would probably kill me instantly?"

"Yes, and?"

Moody swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "I'll make sure it won't."

James made himself as inconspicuous as was humanly possible, contemplating helping Sirius out by making it so his story was true—or at least _seemed_ true. If there was doubt, then Padfoot wouldn't have to face an Auror inquest as well as other things like—Azkaban.

 _It was just a prank_ , his old self protested. _He doesn't deserve this!_

But then James remembered the awful feeling of dying at the fangs of an apex predator, his life not in his hands, his fate no longer blessed and protected.

A niggling feeling caused a shiver to run down his spine as his mind started to make a connection he wasn't quite ready for.

_Why was Padfoot totally convinced he was dead? They slept in the same room. Why did no one say, "Hey, James is sleeping it off upstairs in the tower."?_

_Why hadn't they bothered to look for him?_

_Why hadn't they even questioned whether or not he was actually dead?_

_Why was no one even noticing he was standing right there?!_

_Why did Padfoot have his bloody arm around Lils, comforting her like he was dead?!_

" _ **I'm here!"**_ James yelled at the top of his lungs. " _ **Don't act like I'm fucking DEAD when I'm right here!"**_

There was a surge of magic with his emotion, and suddenly everyone could see him again. They gasped, pointed, some faiting, some making faces of disbelief.

Lily tore away from Sirius and practically flung herself at him, embracing him fiercely, then she pulled back and slapped him hard across the face, shrieking, " _How_ _ **DARE**_ you make me think you were dead!"

"Lil—I swear I just woke up!"

"Y—you _**what?**_ "

"I just woke up. I was in the tower the whole time. I slept in!"

"Ah, hello there, Mr Potter," the great dragonbat rumbled, his tongue flicking across his fangs and outer lips with a slow, calculated drag. "How kind of you to join us on the very morning of your most unfortunate death."

"Why does everyone think I'm _**dead?!**_ " James demanded, his hazel eyes wide in bafflement.

Sirius' face was now an utterly bloodless white, markedly more so than even Snape, whose skin had always seemed vampire-pale by default.

"Ah, but your best mate here swore up and down that he personally witnessed your most gruesome demise at the hands of this young wizard," Alastor said, jutting his chin at Severus. "He even called in the Aurors himself."

"What the _**hell**_ , Pads?!"

"P-prongs, I—"

Suddenly, James paled, seeming to realise something. "You set me up, didn't you?"

"Prongs—"

" _ **You fucking set me up to DIE!"**_

James vaguely recalled hearing Lily's indignant screech of anger on his behalf before everything went a blinding red around the edges and he forgot he was a wizard with a wand. His body was filled with the stag's innate drive to survive, anger at any and all challengers to his "throne," and—

They said he'd managed to miss a few vital organs of note with his antlers when he woke up in the infirmary a few days later after the dragonbat's breath wore off.

"Really?" James heard a female voice nearby. The voice was excited. Engaged.

"Really," a familiar, low, fear-invoking voice rumbled, and he felt the immediate sensation of hot piss running down his legs.

 _Gods_.

"You'd—but, I—"

"You may not have realised this, my dear, but I am a dragonbat. I make my own rules. Or else I _**eat**_ people—or shatter their internal organs along with their minds in some cases. It tends to make people more apt to listen quite carefully to what I have to say."

A pretty little bushy-haired witch glomped onto the dragonbat's rather cramped form, wrapping her arms around his terrifying muzzle as if it were a favourite plush toy with no dangerous qualities whatsoever.

The great dragonbat closed his eyes, seeming to enjoy the embrace more than he would've thought possible for something so utterly terrifying—

"Father will be most honoured to meet you," the witch said with a warm smile. "I think he'd love to discuss with you the thoughts on Thales of Miletus and Aristotle! Oh, and Plato. Can you _**imagine**_ what it would be like to speak to him today! Oh—"

The dragonbat chuckled. "They were both very interesting people, not limited under the constraints of the more common men of the time."

"Oh, but you _knew_ them! You _spoke_ with them! I can't even imagine such a wonderful conversation that would be!"

"Oh, I'm sure you could imagine quite a bit," Manfred said, chuckling softly.

The witch grinned up at him, obviously very excited and happy to talk with—with such a _**monster!**_

James jerked his head up as he heard some familiar footsteps.

_Snivellus._

James winced. Hell… Snape. He was hardly going to go pick out curtains with the bloke, but he could at _least_ use one of his actual names.

"Ah, Severus, thank you so much for bringing the necessary potions," the dragonbat said with an approving nod. "I believe Hermione has just agreed to accept my offer as well. I think between centaur healing and talented potioneering, you would make a truly exceptional team. All the better to train you up and set you loose upon the world with even more fangs. Though, I do think you need more wings to be properly intimidating, but we can't all be this sexy, now can we?"

James had never seen Snape smile until that moment.

It was a soft, considerate look, and the greasy-haired wizard gave the dragonbat a small bow of the head in respect even as he smiled all the wider.

"Think of such ancient knowledge turned loose upon the world in two young ones such as yourselves. The world would be rocked, sending the moorings straight off the shoulders of Atlas. No one could deny the untapped power of such lost arts, buried beneath so many layers of ridiculous societal changes and prejudicial rubbish."

James felt immediately ashamed as he saw such incredible passion in Snape's and this unknown witch's eyes. This—Hermione. The monstrous dragonbat was obviously quite learned of the world, and he would hazard a guess that the fearsome being knew far more than most ordinary people would forget in an entire lifetime or twenty—

"Go on now. Administer your potion, Severus. Then Hermione, you may begin changing the poultices."

A dun-coloured centaur mare with almost-moss green socks where white or black would typically be walked in, her small hooves clacking against the flagstone floor. "Ahh, so you started without me, eh, Manfred?" the elder mare chuckled. "Eager, aren't they?"

"Very much, Mossfoot. Thank you for permitting our team effort."

"Hah! As if we would ever turn down a collaboration with the great Anicetus Karanos Hegelochos."

"Fft," the dragonbat replied. "Manfred is far easier to say. Long are we past the time when names rattled on for an arm's length just to prove how mysterious we were."

Mossfoot chuckled. "As you wish."

"I rather _like_ Anicetus Karanos Hegelochos," Hermione said, grinning.

The dragonbat nuzzled her, practically knocking her over. "You are biased, my dear. You also enjoy remarkable feats of strength when it comes to one's linguistics prowess."

Hermione giggled as the dragonbat's ensuing snort caused her hair to go flying every which way. She gained a more serious expression, however, as she set to work on her poultice mixtures.

"Potter," Snape's voice was oddly calm and even, and James had to do a quick double take. "Your medicinal potions. If you feel up to drinking them, I can hand them to you. Otherwise, I will simply blow them up your nose."

James glared at him. "That's hardly professional."

Snape simply curled his lip in response.

"Actually, that _is_ the way we tend to do it whenever the patient is unconscious. The dosing has to be somewhat more potent, however, and rendered into a powder so it sticks to all of your mucous membranes." The dragonbat curled his lips back from his very, very white and pointy teeth. "I could, of course, save my apprentice the trouble and swish it around in my mouth and breathe it on you, if you prefer."

James immediately shut his gob and jerked his head in a distinct _no_ , putting his hand out for the drinkable potion.

Snape gave it to him with a cocked eyebrow slanted perfectly to launch up into his hairline.

The bushy-haired witch came over with a freshly pulverised mixture and a small cloth. It stank to high heaven, and it made James want to bury his highly offended nose in a handy pillow, lavender bush, or anything other than that hideous—what _ever_ that was.

"I have your poultice, Mr Potter," the witch said, smiling. I'll need to change your bandages.

"What? _**NO!"**_ James cried, pushing her away. "Get that horrible stuff away from me!"

"You'd prefer to get sepsis and bleed out from every single orifice you have, including your mouth and eyes?" The girl eyed him with frank disbelief.

Bedside manner. She _really_ needed to work on her bedside manner!

"Of course not!"

"Then I highly recommend you sit down, be quiet, and let me change your bandages. Who do you think has been doing it for the past week? Fairies?"

"You have a really horrible bedside manner, you know that, right?"

The witch's lip curved upward. "Centaur do not coddle their injured."

"You're _hardly_ a centaur, miss," James sniffed.

"You know, Mossfoot, I think a full-on mutational adoption could be quite beneficial in this case. She would look so much better with more fur and wings. And just think of the shiny white fangs. It would be _so_ adorable."

"Admetos might miss his daughter, Anicetus Karanos Hegelochos."

"Manfred!"

"But he might approve of the gift, regardless."

"See? Fine centaur practicality. I think she would make a glorious dragonbat. Think of the centuries blessed with that sassy mind to keep us all on our toes."

"I'm right here," Hermione protested.

Manfred chuckled.

"There will be _no_ dragonbat adoptions in my infirmary, Master Morgan!" Poppy Pomfrey tutted from the other side of the room. "I can barely house a visiting one without losing all of my beds as it is."

Manfred seemed to pout. "Awww, Poppy, my love. Why must you be so heartless?"

Poppy spluttered, flushing deeply. "You stop that right now, Manfred Morgan! You know perfectly well what that horrible voice of yours does to me!"

"Is it _really_ so horrible?" Manfred asked, his lip quivering even as his eyes were filled with flirtatious mischief.

Poppy, red-faced and very flushed, hurried off to the other beds to tend her patients.

"Isn't it about time for you to settle down and have a few foals?" Mossfoot asked teasingly.

"Hrrr," Manfred purred, looking after the hastily retreating Poppy. "Unfortunately, our lovely mediwitch keeps on resisting my innate charms."

"Perhaps you should try the centaur way. Bring her the spoils of a great hunt to prove your prowess to provide for your future foals."

_**Thud.** _

James Potter had passed out on the bed.

Hermione perked. "Well, now I can change the poultices!"

Severus sniffed. "Up the nose it is, Potter."

Manfred grinned. "I _love_ apprentices."

Mossfoot whickered in amusement. "And they love you too, Anicetus Karanos Hegelochos."

"Manfred, Mossfoot. Please. I can only imagine you trying to call out for me only to trip over all that long name only to die somewhere in a godforsaken water-logged trench."

Mossfoot snorted. "Be sure to put plenty of extra paste on that one. He's obviously still suffering from the dragonbat's breath."

"I _do_ brush and floss, centaur."

Mossfoot flicked her tail. "Doing so with the tendons of your enemies does not count."

Master Morgan sighed. "Pity. The time when such a thing was socially acceptable and even expected was so much more fun." He seemed thoughtful. "I was really looking forward to watching the boy getting pinned down by a hundred and eighty some stone of gargantuan disease-breathing feline."

Mossfoot sighed. "Immortal or not, stallions are all the same, finding great amusement in the terrified flailings of others."

Manfred's lips pulled back in a dragonbat version of a toothy grin, all fangs and daggers. "The Tibicena and the Nundu are, once mated, immortal creatures too. Few know of the legend even amongst their own species, this was once not the case. Not until the great volcano god did bless its most favoured pair to protect and serve until the very Earth itself went cold and dark down to its very core."

"It's hardly a logical match," Mossfoot said.

"Oh, but if you see them, is this not a very logical match?"

Severus and Hermione were working together quite smoothly as he helped bandage up the Potter boy and she carefully tilted back the boy's head so Severus could blow the medicine up his nostrils with a small hollowed-out tube.

"Maybe not so hard to see," Mossfoot conceded.

"I still think they need a good pair of wings," Manfred mused.

"The world is not ready for Helldu Dragonbats, Manfred."

There was a clatter of quick footsteps that sounded just before a sudden crash as Lily Potter spotted the dragonbat and the centaur chatting, watching as Severus was blowing medicine up James' nose.

She was now out cold and drooling on the stone floor.

"You really do need to work on that intimidating aura of yours, Anicetus Karanos Hegelochos."

Manfred sighed, scooped up the unconscious witch, and tucked her into the bed next to the equally unconscious Potter-boy. "I fear I cannot help my stunning aura of magnificence."

Mossfoot eyed his actions with a critical eye as well as simple curiosity.

Manfred shrugged, his great wings fluttering. "I've seen quite a few bonds ignite in my life. I recognise them far quicker now than I did during my fallible youth."

"I have rather a hard time imagining you as a fallible youth."

"We've all made mistakes in our youth," Manfred said with a tilt of his head. "It is whether we learn from them or even recognise the mistake that makes us evolve and adapt."

* * *

"Lils? What happened to Sirius?" James said after a long silence. He rubbed his aching body.

"You, um, impaled him multiple times with your antlers," Lily said. "In front of everyone."

James paled a little. "I don't remember _that_."

"He's at the Ministry being—um … well, patched up for one. Interrogated for another about his partially fractured soul." Lily bit her lip. "It's all over the Prophet now. Dumbledore is absolutely furious. They say Sirius tried to use Remus to murder Sev. They also say he tried to frame Sev for _your_ murder. They had to have Dumbledore remove some sort of oath just so he could talk about it without killing himself!"

James looked down.

"And Sev has this disgustingly smug look on his face like he thinks he was right all along. I really hate how he makes me feel like the bad person when he's been the one using Dark magic to attack all of you!"

James flinched. "Lils—"

"And that horrible monster that keeps visiting! It's so scary, and they say it will be visiting Hogwarts all the time now because Sev is his apprentice! That's like being apprenticed to another species! How does that even work?! It's not like you can be apprenticed to a dragon!"

"Lily, we made it up."

"And it just showed up here without the Headmaster's permission! Bossing people around. Just because it's so scary doesn't mean—"

" _ **LILY!**_ For Merlin's sake, we made it all up! Snape didn't attack us with Dark Magic. We attacked him _ **,**_ four against one, and he was simply defending himself. We made up the story just so _**we**_ wouldn't look bad for bullying him! We stalked him. Every bloody day. We wanted him to pay for getting into our business, so we made his life utter hell at every possible opportunity because we _**knew**_ we would get away with it. We heckled and harassed him every chance we could because he made such a good target. We thought—since he obviously didn't take care of himself that we didn't have to care about him, either."

James squinted, his face wrinkling. "We went way too far, Lils. It wasn't about pranking anymore. It became a vendetta, and then one night—" James trailed off. He struggled, sweating. "Fuck. I can't even say it."

"You can't say _**what**_ , James?"

"I can't talk about what happened that night!"

"Because Sev _**cursed**_ you!"

" _ **NO!**_ Because—" James clutched at his head. "Because I made a Vow not to talk about it. It's why we could make up stories about it. We couldn't tell the truth even if we wanted to. And neither could he."

"He said he didn't _**do**_ anything. So _**that**_ was a lie too!"

"No, that _**was**_ the truth," James informed her baldly. "Well, he hadn't until we pushed him way too far. He—He— _ **Fuck!**_ " He tore at his own hair in sheer frustration.

"Snape has been working to save my ruddy life, Lils. I swear to you, that's Merlin's honest truth. That centaur-girl too. Hermione. She's been treating me for the after effects of Master Morgan's breath weapon."

"The centaur-girl?"

"A healer-apprentice. She lives with the centaur."

"Why not at Hogwarts? Who is she?"

"I don't know, Lil," James said. "She's a healer-apprentice. She learns from them."

"But healers are specially trained!"

"She is training."

"But she's treating you only half-trained?!"

James wrinkled his nose. "Lil, apprentices _always_ work under a master. The master is always with them. It's why—"

"But Madam Pomfrey isn't taking apprentices! I know because I tried to study healing. They said I had to wait until after I took my N.E.W.T.s and apply at St Mungos!"

"That is because I have no time to devote to apprentices who are distracted by hormones and adolescent drama, young lady," Madam Pomfrey said. "The healers at St Mungos have a teaching staff and more disease than you'll ever see here. Thankfully, most of the injuries here are easily remedied. Broken bones, scrapes, basic spells gone awry. The more complicated ones, I have no time to be explaining to someone while they tend to come in groups. I am not a teacher willing to tolerate any distractions from an apprentice that is too young in the mind, and that often does not resolve until a person is well into their twenties or thirties in my experience. Too much lack of experience out there."

"I could handle it!" Lily cried, pouting with a pucker of her lips.

"You are better served apprenticing at Mungos, Miss Evans," Poppy said. "If you are lucky, you will find someone with a fraction of genius like Master Morgan to take you under their wing." Poppy's gaze seemed far off, remembering.

"I'm good at my studies!" Lily said.

"You're far too superficial and prejudiced," Madam Pomfrey said sternly, her voice turning to steel. "Most young people are in some way, but I will not tolerate such nonsense in anyone I will be teaching. My patients deserve proper respect, and they come from _all_ houses here. They are not to be shoved into certain erroneous stereotypes because they wear yellow or green, red or blue. All of them deserve the very best of care. Can you say with absolute honesty that you would be able to separate yourself and treat everyone with respect and be their advocate despite your own beliefs?"

"Of _**course**_ I could!" Lily protested. "I could be a great healer if you'd only give me a chance!"

"Howwww. Verrrrry. Wonderrrful to hear that," rumbled Manfred said as he wing-walked-squeezed in through the horribly small doorway that was built to be large for humans. He cracked his neck as he sighed. "You'd think an enchanted castle would have adjustable doors," he tutted.

"Tell me about it," a female centaur said as she eyed the "small" door with a critical eye. "How is our patient, Madam Pomfrey?"

"Poppy, dear," the mediwitch corrected with a smile. "How were your lunches?"

"Disturbingly lacking in the usual blood and screams," Manfred replied with a curl of his lips. "No virgin sacrifices, ritual blood-letting, nothing exciting at _all_."

"Manfred, don't be such a sourpuss," Pomfrey chided fondly.

"Aww, but I get so terribly bored without such mind-stimulating excitement," Manfred pouted, an alien twist of his muzzle making him look even more dangerous. "It wouldn't be so bad if the one I truly desired would stop teasing and evading my considerable charms at every possible turn."

Poppy flushed a deep pink, even as her hand touched his muzzle tenderly. "You know I can't leave Hogwarts. They need me here."

Manfred shook his head. "That is a terrible reason to give up a happy life, and you know we would be happy. If they cannot accept you as I accept you, then they are not worth saving from their own prejudices."

" _ **You're**_ Master Manfred Morgan?!" Lily gasped.

Morgan's eyes slid sideways, his lids narrowing. "That is indeed my name, child."

"I'm _**not**_ a child!" Lily protested.

His lips curled against his teeth. "You are to one such as me."

James frantically tried to tug on Lily's arm to get her to stop talking.

"Let go of me, James!"

"Masters! I brought the tinctures we worked on!" a bushy-haired witch Lily had never seen before seemed to bounce into the infirmary. She went on her tippy toes to touch noses with the centaur mare, and then she outright embraced Manfred's face with an enthusiastic hug. "The day poppies were right where you said they'd be. The tincture came out perfectly!"

She held out a bottle of bright blue liquid in a crystal vial. "Severus said it's the best he's ever brewed."

Lily gaped at the other girl's unusual attire—made of fur and hide and varied animal parts. Shells clacked on wraps around her legs, making soft tinkling sounds.

Manfred rumbled in approval, his muzzle rubbing gently against her face and neck. "Very good, child. You both did _very_ well."

Lily saw the beast's teeth flash as they came down towards the girl's neck.

" _ **Look out!"**_ she cried, using her magic to shove the other girl away from the beast's muzzle full of sharp teeth.

The small crystal vial went flying as the oblivious bushy-haired witch went in one direction as the vial went the other.

The vial shattered against the stone wall as the contents dripped through the cracks.

" _ **No! Nononono!"**_ the girl cried in distress, crawling to the shards. " _ **NO!"**_

Manfred's expression was all fury, venom dripping from every fang. " _This_ is what you call ready for becoming a healer? Did you even take a moment to properly assess the situation before you threw Mossfoot's apprentice to the floor and shattered the potion that would have prevented young Mr Potter from relapsing into sepsis?"

The dragonbat's mouth twisted into a ferocious snarl. "Your intelligence is insignificant to the strength of your stupidity, and I would not take you on as an apprentice if you were the last healer candidate on the planet. Now get out of my sight before I remember what it was like to be a god amongst men!"

Suddenly, small arms wrapped around the enraged beast's head and pulled it close. "Please, Master. I will make another. There is still enough time. Severus and I can gather the flowers again." The curly-haired girl sniffled, but she buried her face against his muzzle.

His snarl relaxed, breath escaping in slower whufts. "You are far too good for this world, Hermione," Manfred said after taking a few calming breaths. "Go, and take Severus with you. Do not take the blame for this, but explain to him what happened here. Hurry. The Potter boy must have his next dose of medicine before nightfall, or he will likely die."

"Yes, Master!" Hermione quickly bounced up to rub noses with Mossfoot. "I'm sorry, Mossfoot!"

"Go child, and be quick," Mossfoot urged her. "Waste no time with any human foolishness."

Hermione swiftly nodded in understanding, and in a flash of movement, a great spotted beast rose up in her place, the Nundu tearing off with eerily silent paws out the poor, abused infirmary door and away. Oddly, the door seemed to understand, and it promptly opened wider, allowing the Nundu out without having to face any further entanglements.

"Oh, fine. The castle _loves_ Nundu. Of course it does. But dragonbats? Nooooo. It makes _me_ squeeze through a tiny space like I'm trying to be reborn."

Poppy placed a tender kiss upon his muzzle. "Thank you for not killing my patients—or their visitors."

Manfred's eyes widened and then slid sideways to peer at Poppy. "Mrr."

Poppy flushed pink, cast a spell to clean up the shards of crystal, and hurried off to her other patients. "Miss Evans, I want you to leave my infirmary at once. I've had enough of your drama for one day, and I'm starting to think flying off into the sunset as a giant primordial dragonbat sounds pretty damned good right now."

Manfred's ears perked up high like the jackal god's.

Mossfoot thumped Manfred on the head. "Bring her a nice basket of delicacies, that will do wonders, believe me."

"Old when humans discovered fire and I am _still_ unable to convince a glorious witch of my eternal devotion." Manfred seemed to pout, wings drooping.

"Oh, I think she knows quite well what she wants," Mossfoot said bracingly. "Sometimes you just have to prove you'll be there for the future."

"I'm immortal," Manfred protested. "Of course I'll be there for the future."

"Logic means nothing in love, Anicetus Karanos Hegelochos," Mossfoot said. "Now go out there and _**prove**_ it!"

Master Morgan's jaw snapped back together with a clack. "I bow to your superior centaur expertise."

Mossfoot stomped her hoof in approval. "As it should be."

Lily, however, was currently out cold on the floor, and thus had nothing further to add to the conversation.

* * *

"I just wanted to tell you that I forgive you."

"You. Forgive. Me?" Severus let the words hang in the air like so much dead weight. He looked up from the book he was reading, a black eyebrow disappearing into his hair on one side.

"Right." Lily sat down right next to him just like she used to, and Severus felt his lips curving back from his teeth as a sudden epiphany smouldered to life in his stomach.

He didn't rightly _care_ for her forgiveness anymore.

All those hours spent grovelling on his knees at the foot of Gryffindor tower had meant absolutely nothing to her before. It had been almost two whole years since she had even been civil to him. Not once. Not even once had she shown any sort of care or softening in her regard, and when the rumours started that he had used Dark magic to slice up Potter and his gang—

She had _believed_ them.

So now, on the very cusp of their imminent graduation and upcoming N.E.W.T.s, Lily Evans had come down off her high horse of Gryffindor superiority to flit about the normal mortals below.

He was starting to see why Master Morgan's regard shifted from warm and accepting to ice cold to wrathful vengeance incarnate so easily.

After hearing about how Lily had tried to "save" Hermione from Master Morgan, he was amazed that the dragonbat hadn't ripped her to shreds, as it seemed his protectiveness of Hermione's warmth and enthusiasm was on par if not greater than Snape's.

Even Mossfoot seemed content to let the dragonbat defend their joined apprentice—not that she had any problems dressing down someone for being a sodding idiot.

Severus did admit that Hermione's astonishing ability to accept him had been amazing in itself, but her ability to adapt and embrace hellhound, centaur, dragonbat, or whatever else seemed almost unreal.

Then again, he thought to himself, if she could accept a hellhound and herself as a Nundu, then was everything else really that far of a stretch?

He was starting to realise that her easy acceptance of him had allowed him to accept himself, and that was something he'd been struggling with for years, even without Lily pointing such things out to him and then shoving him as far away as possible.

Having Lily sitting there next to him—

It no longer felt normal or natural.

It no longer felt like sweet relief from a world that was forever against him.

No, that had come about due to a certain bushy-haired witch.

He felt comfort in her presence, and it seemed a bit of that warmth travelled with him wherever he went. That insecure part of him—that part that had always struggled to do whatever he could to preserve what he had with Lily, seemed less worried about what Hermione would think of him tomorrow or the day after. She had already proven that her friendship was golden and her loyalty the sort of thing smart witches and wizards would be wise to culture and grow, not that Severus was really supportive of blind, stupid loyalty—

No.

Hermione's remarkable steadfastness in the face of everything she had been through was something he simply couldn't ignore. It wasn't as if she had lost her mind, or grabbed hold of some random ideal and clamped onto it like a bulldog. She had to rationalise everything, thinking it through—at least when she wasn't going solely with her Nundu-gut, which obviously had certain _other_ ways of making significant life choices.

He couldn't really argue with that gut, to be fair. His memory of the wide-eyed young Nundu immediately pouncing and fake-mauling the much larger and more intimidating dragonbat came with that horrific feeling that everything was going to go south fast—

But it hadn't.

It had earned her warm snuggles from Master Morgan.

Who would have or could have predicted _that_?

Severus had expected Hermione to be in her human form when Master Morgan had asked to meet her, having sensed that magical bond during his confirmation that Snape had not, in fact, murdered anyone. What did they say about assumptions?

Never assume Hermione was going to be human when stumbling into the forest to make introductions—

Never assume the giant, dangerous dragonbat was going to murder your friend for her audacity to be affectionate—

Seems as Lily assumed the same too, he thought. It wasn't exactly an illogical conclusion. Manfred was, even when quite mellow, utterly terrifying to behold for most lowly mortals.

Madam Pomfrey obviously had some shared history with Master Morgan that wasn't purely that of master and apprentice. Who would have ever guessed that?

But Lily—

Lily had apparently had some sort of epiphany that drove her to "forgive him" as if it was what he'd been desperately waiting on for the last two years.

Maybe, had things not gone as they had, this _might_ have been true.

But now, having tasted genuine companionship, touch (Merlin, to be touched kindly), and intelligent conversation and debate without worrying that at the end of the day the only option was letting the other win?

There were so many things he was willing to entertain now that he had felt such acceptance like building a life together with someone—hell, just building a life!

He should just tell her precisely where to stick that forgiveness of hers.

How shallow it was.

How late.

_**Dadum. Badum. THUMP!** _

_**MrrrrrrrrrrowwwwlTHUMP.** _

Snape suddenly found himself being dragged off by the collar into the dense undergrowth.

"Nnngahh! Hermione! I can walk on my own!"

_**NNnng. Nnnng. Huff.** _

The Nundu's chuffing purr answered him.

"Don't make me bathe you in lava!"

_**PUrrrRRRRRRRRRR.** _

"Merlin bless it _**GAH**_! Let me _**go**_ you overgrown housecat!"

Lily's eyes grew very, very wide.

"Don't forget to pick the shade-thistle!" a feminine, somewhat familiar voice called after them.

Lily slowly turned her head around in an almost comic fashion to see an almost-white female dragonbat with flecks of silver-grey casually itching her ear with one wing.

"Heh," Pomfrey's voice came from the dragonbat's snarling muzzle. "Kids."

Poppy frowned as Lily, her green eyes wide with shock, let out a tiny squeak and passed out right there on the ground. She let out a deep sigh, shaking her head.

"Honestly, young people," Poppy scoffed. "You'd think that with all the ridiculous things they get themselves into, break, try to break, blow up, and otherwise maim themselves with that seeing a dragonbat would be old news."

Poppy took to the air, snatching up Lily's body with her feet and carrying her off towards the infirmary.

As Severus looked up from the patch of shade-thistle, he saw Lily hanging limply from Madam Pomfrey's claws—well, he supposed it was Madam Morgan now—as she was being carried off towards Hogwarts.

"Fuck. I don't even want to _know_ ," Severus sighed.

Hermione placed a fine-looking specimen into the basket they were sharing. "I think she looks a lot happier now."

"Lily?"

"Madam Morgan."

"Ah, yes, she _does_ seem far more content."

Bane trotted up and set down a large basket of apples. "Apple? I'm afraid we seem to be lacking popcorn."

Firenze cantered up clutching a huge burlap bag. "Hey, look what I got in trade for a quality catch of smoked trout! Popcorn!"

_**Whum. Whum. Whum.** _

The great wings of a pleased-looking dragonbat blocked out the sun temporarily as Manfred landed (somehow) in-between the trees without knocking them all flat. "Hrm, I seem to have coconut oil, salt, and a _very_ large copper kettle."

Magorian appeared, helping Olive haul out a massive jug that was filled to the brim. "And _we_ have a freshly-pressed batch of cider to wash all that popcorn down with!"

Admetos appeared out of the shadows like a spectre. "Excellent! We have the foals out collecting fairy pods and a prize boar smoking its way to delicious perfection in the pit, so let the festivities begin! Anicetus Karanos Hegelochos, congratulations on acquiring yourself a fine mate, at long last."

"Manfred, please, for the love of the short, Manfred," Master Morgan protested to a flurry of amused centaur whickering.

Severus smiled a bit sheepishly at Hermione as they both discovered that harvesting potion ingredients was pretty darned fun, after all.

The excited young foals that began to filter in clutching baskets loaded with speckled fairy pods seemed to agree wholeheartedly, as Severus realised that another benefit of being friendly with the centaur was that you were never really alone for long.

Or hungry.

Definitely _not_ hungry.

Severus smiled at Hermione as he took the flower from her slender fingers. He could certainly live with that.

* * *

Severus hadn't expected the air to completely leave his lungs when he saw Hermione walking out of the edge of the forest with a deep green-dyed leather dress trimmed with shells and claws. Olive had truly outdone herself, decking Hermione out in fine centaur fashion, but also paying absolute respect for human modesty with regard to the people of Hogsmeade. It fascinated him when he realised just how much the centaur knew about human society even when it was apparent humans did not pay the same respects.

He extended his arm, and her arm looped around his. The jolt of warmth travelled up to his brain and down to his toes, and he smiled at her. "Hello. You look gorgeous."

Hermione flushed. "Thank you. I think Olive really outdid herself."

"Tea first or the bookstore?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Tea first, I think. That way we can spend more time with the books."

Severus chuckled. "As you wish."

As gregarious and outgoing as her Nundu-self was, Hermione seemed almost nervous being out in public around Hogsmeade.

They arrived to find the only table still free was by the front window of Madam Puddifoot's tea shoppe—the one with "too much" lighting that most wannabe student snoggers tried their best to avoid.

Severus found he didn't mind all that much. Snogging was hardly the sole reason he wanted to have tea with Hermione. To be seen with someone he cared about? Why not? Why _not_ let people see the person who cared for him and he—

He cared about her, too.

Never one to endorse, believe, or even consider the idea of falling in love like it was anything other than hormones, Severus had to admit that if there was anyone he had truly fallen for, head over his lava-feathered tail, it was Hermione. He couldn't even imagine a world without her in it, and he was—

He was even willing to believe that if she was truly happy with someone else, he could live with it—not that he wouldn't fight tooth, nail, and lava-dripping fang over it.

"There isn't, you know."

Severus startled, his tea cup frozen in place in front of his mouth.

"Someone else. I seem to be rather fixated. On you."

Severus felt a flutter grow in his chest that he swore was his heart trying to escape through his ribcage. His old-set cynical mind tried in vain to flail about and abort, deny, and otherwise throw such sentiments out.

_Don't let her in._

_Don't let her know you._

_Don't let her make you vulnerable._

Hermione looked down at her tea and drank it. "It's okay. You don't have to feel the same."

_She's pulling away._

_You idiot._

_You sodding idiot!_

_Do something._

_Do something before she realises you're a fucking cowardly arse!_

His hand covered hers, his pale fingers grasping hers.

_Where were all his words?_

_The words that always came so quickly? The words he never had issues flinging at any and all covers?_

_Those are hardly the kind of words I want to use with her! He protested internally._

"I'm horrible with words," he said slowly.

_Ob-viously._

_Shut the fuck up!_

"What I feel for you is powerful. Scary. I've never felt this way for anyone before. I'm not really sure how to—" He winced, finding that the act of trying to confess anything was almost physically painful for him. Yet, the very idea that Hermione might think he believed her to be anything less than the most amazing, compassionate person—"Please don't think my hesitation indicates a lack of interest. Believe me. That is definitely _not_ the issue."

Hermione gave him a weak smile, but there was a certain dimness in her lovely eyes that he couldn't help but notice.

Severus took her hand and gently lifted to his mouth, setting his lips above her knuckles but not touching them. "There is something I wish to share with you, but— not here. Not like this. Will you trust me?"

Hermione nodded slowly.

Severus sighed, standing up and placing money on the table. "Come, I'd rather be somewhere less crowded."

Hermione followed him out, and Severus found he could feel the eyes of those back in the shop glaring a hole into his back. Many still believed he was an unredeemable wizard who would call his best childhood friend a horrible, unforgivable slur, dabble in Dark magic, and attack innocent Gryffindors who had done nothing wrong.

Like most opinions at Hogwarts, they were rarely, if ever, based on actual fact.

Hermione, however, accepted his proffered arm, pressing herself against him with the same trust she always had— even with her doubts and his personal insecurities.

"Atalanta," he whispered. "Do you trust me?"

Hermione tilted her head, realising he was travelling down a serious path. "Of course, Nisyros."

Severus lead her to that path of the Shrieking Shack, knowing that the people of Hogsmeade gave it a wide berth. With the sun high in the sky; however, the path was hardly as dangerous. He sat on the bench outside the stone wall, and she sat beside him.

"I am not one to trust easily, if at all," he said grimly. "That was beaten out of me. Sometimes even literally."

Hermione tilted her head. "I remember some of the memories from when we first met."

Severus nodded. "And I remember yours—but from childhood, I had but one friend. Her name was Lily. She had a sister, Petunia, but she wasn't magical. She was ridiculed by her sister often until the day she met me and learned about magic. Learned she was a witch— that she wasn't a freak, after all. She became my friend, and for the longest time, she was but my only real friend."

"Lily. She was the one who shoved me away from Master Morgan," Hermione recalled, frowning.

Severus nodded. "The same. We were still friends up until my fifth year, when I called her something unforgivable. She was trying to defend me from Potter and his gang, but when I saw her lips curve into a half-smile as she did so, I lost my mind. I called her a— Mudblood. And she never forgave me for it— until just a few days ago. I had grovelled to her for weeks, months, begging her forgiveness. I even threatened to sleep outside the Gryffindor portrait portal. But Lily was utterly unmoved. She told me to get stuffed and go hang out with my Death Eater buddies."

Severus stared at his hands. "I was very close to seeing things their way. When Lily pushed me away, I became convinced that being good wasn't good enough. Power would surely prove to her what my words could not. It was so tempting— wealth, power, prestige. They dangled a mastery before me like a carrot, and it was right there in front of me. Ripe for the taking."

"I would have become everything she believed me to be already. A Dark wizard. Desiring and seeking to obtain power and enslaved to those who lorded it over me."

Hermione remained silent.

"I had nothing left to lose. Nothing to fight for but myself." Severus cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. "Until _you_ fell into my life. Suddenly, there was someone who believed in me. Cared for me. Didn't care that my hair was greasy or that I was a Slytherin."

Severus looked down at his hands. "What I feel for you is so incredibly powerful, Hermione. It frightens me because I fear that embracing that feeling will just leave me open to even more pain and disappointment. I feel it will devour me whole, consume me with a fierce protectiveness— possessiveness. Feelings I have no _right_ to feel."

"Don't be so thick, Severus," Hermione said quietly, turning to look up at him. "Perhaps, I want someone to believe I am _worth_ being protected. I want someone to decide I am— someone they truly desire to live a full life with. My entire life I was never good enough. Never pretty enough. Never quiet enough. Never outspoken enough. Just a bloody know-it-all. Stupid bint. A worthless little Mudblood. My parents valued my academic excellence, but friends were merely a side-note. I didn't _need_ them, you see. The ones I thought I had believed me to be a great asset to helping with their homework but then complained when it didn't fit into their schedule. I was ruining a good life. Fun. I wasn't even a girl. I was just 'Mione."

"They were blind fools," Severus said, his brows furrowing.

Hermione looked down at her knees.

"If I had met you back then instead of Lily, we'd be bloody married by magical consummation by now. I would _never_ have let you go."

Severus' eyes suddenly widened at his own unexpected confession. "I mean— I— _fuck._ If being with someone else would have truly made you happy, I wouldn't have been happy, but I would have accepted it—eventually. But I wouldn't have ever let you walk out of my life without a fight. I wouldn't have simply let you go."

Hermione tilted her head thoughtfully.

Severus heaved a long breath and touched her chin, bringing it up so she faced him. "I want you so much that it hurts to think of a world without you in it. My nights would be lonely, incomplete. My days would be hollow, barren. There would be this terrible emptiness inside me that I could never fill. Your scent is my Amortentia. It could never be anyone else, and I am terrified that you will bolt away from me, seeing the error of your ways."

"Married by magical consummation?" Hermione asked, her mind having been processing with an apparent stall. "What does that entail, exactly?"

"That's what you heard? Did you even hear what I said after?"

Hermione looked into his eyes.

"A kiss and magic's blessing," Severus said, his brows furrowing. "Compatibility judged by magic.

Hermione's eyes widened. "So, just a kiss could get you married?"

"If you're magical— it's why there were all of these customs in the beginning that strongly discouraged amorous physical contact between a wizard and witch unless married. It fell out of favour for modern thinking, but there was always the chance that if you kissed someone, you'd be stuck together."

"I always thought it seemed so odd that Wizarding society seemed locked back more Victorian times," Hermione said.

"It rarely seems to happen—" Snape said, his brows meeting together. "But I learned that a long time ago if you even threatened to mess up an arranged marriage between two pureblood families, it could get you disowned on the spot. I used to wonder because any new Slytherin is scheduled for an immediate sit down and we are lectured the moment we first enter the Slytherin common room. I now suspect the 'Mudblood' insult thing was just a way to keep the purebloods in power since the time of the creation of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. If Muggleborns were to realise that creating a new magical-blessed line really _could_ happen to anyone— their entire argument of pureblood superiority would be rendered moot. It would still be rare, but it would be possible. If you're pureblood, you're already from a magically blessed line, anyway. That's the story we're all told. The fear, perhaps, is that if you are of a pureblood line and you go and marry a Muggleborn and there isn't a new line formed that somehow you have proven yourself inferior. If you marry another pureblood, you're already considered blessed, so you don't lose anything."

"So what magic intended to be a gift, those people tried to hoard it for themselves and lord their alleged superiority over others?" Hermione looked horrified.

"This concerns you more than possibly being magically bound to me for the rest of your life?" Severus's brows were knit together again. It seemed to happen a _lot_ while in her company, he noticed.

Hermione bit her lip. "I value the freedom to make your own choices, especially when it comes to love. Prearranged marriages and lording power over someone to make them your slave— that's detestable!"

"There are certain highly-guarded texts that speculate if the inbreeding amongst the magical lines was, in fact, doing the very opposite of what was originally intended: weakening magical power, bringing in vulnerability to disease, and even offering some debate on the long term effects on overall intelligence and mental stability."

"Crabbe and Goyle," Hermione muttered.

"You _know_ them?" Severus asked, his eyebrow lifting.

"We have them in my other time too," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose.

It made sense, Severus realised. There would always be Crabbes and Goyles, Malfoys and LeStrange's. Purebloods would see to that even if they had to arrange marriages between their own family members like the Blacks were known to do.

He knew that Regulus was very, _very_ careful about who he displayed romantic interest in, and even then, he wore gloves and did not engage in wanton broom closet activities, unlike his rebellious idiot of an older brother. While Severus wasn't exactly wearing gloves, he didn't exactly have a laundry list of witches who wanted to get their hands on him, either … unlike poor Regulus.

From what Severus had seen and experienced, Lord Orion Black, the patriarch of the household, at least on Regulus' side of the family, was an extremely commanding sort of wizard— relatively short but in stature only. He did not strut or make a show of himself, but he didn't have to.

Even Sirius Black did not _dare_ speak against his Lord father— to his face. At Hogwarts, however, all Sirius could seem to do was backtalk his family.

Severus did admit that he himself had once dreamed of being a wealthy and popular Pureblood like many of his fellows, but now he was starting to see the dark and unappealing side of all that wealth and popularity, thanks to growing up in Slytherin.

While being financially well off certainly did have its benefits, the older families seemed to have an awful lot of angst and drama attached to that great wealth.

"So, you're worried we might be magically married," Hermione said sadly. "I suppose I can understand not wanting to be forced into something."

He could feel her withdrawing into herself. See, in his mind's eye, her whiskers and tail drooping.

His hand closed over hers as he willed her to understand. "Gods, no, Hermione. I'm worried you would feel trapped and would hate me. If there was even a chance of that— it would _**kill**_ me. To see disgust on your face when you think of me. I couldn't bear it."

Hermione's eyes met his. "I don't think that will be a problem."

Severus put his forehead to hers. "I wouldn't want you to have doubts."

Hermione broke into laughter.

Severus frowned.

"Severus, doubting is _life_. If I didn't doubt myself every single day, there would be something wrong with me. That doesn't mean I don't have doubts about us from time to time, just not in any way that really matters. My biggest doubt is whether you'll still want to be around me tomorrow or the day after that."

Severus tenderly pressed his lips to her temple. "Believe me, if my heart has anything to say about it, logic be damned. History be damned. Gladly, I would allow myself to be bound so long as that person is you."

Hermione touched his cheek. "You really mean that, don't you?"

"Always."

Hermione gave off a rumbling purr of pure pleasure despite being in human form.

Snape pressed his lips to her temple and moved lower to her ear, cheek, and jaw. "Hermione? May I kiss you?"

Hermione's breath was warm against his cheek. "Yes," she whispered breathily.

His fingers drew her face to his with a tender, featherlight touch. He licked his lips as he tentatively moved in closer. His nose brushed against her skin as she lifted her head to meet him.

Hermione choked suddenly as Snape's hand curved around her throat and squeezed tightly. Her eyes went wide as her hands struggled to remove the vice-like grip. She looked at him, praying for some sort of understanding even as a profound sense of betrayal grew in her heart. Yet, even with his betrayal, tears leaked out from her eyes.

She couldn't hurt him.

His black eyes stared into her. Cold. Lifeless.

His fingers squeezed as a sneer curled his lips into a familiar, hateful scowl.

Hermione's fingers strained against his. "S—"

_You're nothing but a good for nothing know-it-all bint, you stupid little Mudblood_

As Hermione's eyes rolled back and her body went limp, Snape stood over her, his hand still locked in the exact same position where he had released her if only to let her body hit the ground.

A nasal voice chuckled nastily as dirty brown hair framed a sneering face. "Now kick her, Snivellus. Keep doing it until I tell you to stop."

Snape kicked Hermione while she was down.

Again.

And again.

Peter giggled to himself. "That's for taking my bloody hand and foot," he said as he clutched his wand in his good hand. He placed his wand in his mouth and pointed it at his arm. "The Dark Lord promised me a brand new hand and foot if I could bring you to heel, seeing as you have denied his gracious invitations so many times. I think having you break her will be perfect. She'll never trust you again, and you'll get _exactly_ what you deserve. He's dying to know why stupid Snivellus would dare turn him down. Over a mere _girl_?"

What a bunch of crock!

Snape was _still_ kicking the bint.

"Okay, okay, you can stop now," Peter said. "There has to be something left for me after the Dark Lord is done with her."

Snape stood again, body wavering slightly as the spell ensured he was utterly incapable of disobeying.

"I wonder if he'll give me Lily in thanks for her telling me all about your little paramour," Peter muttered, smirking to himself. "Oh, won't _she_ be cross? Hee hee! Well, they'll all get theirs, just like you, Snivellus. I'm going to be on the winning side, and as for you— boy, I'm _really_ looking forward to seeing everything you've ever wanted withering and dying by your own hand."

Peter placed his foot on Snape's back and pressed the end of his wand into the black tattoo on his arm and mumbled " _Portus"_ keeping it clenched tightly between his teeth.

* * *

"There is something really creepy about this sodding forest," Reynold Crabbe muttered uneasily, holding his wand out like a torch. "This dark is thick enough to cut and serve for pudding."

"Widdle Biddle Crabbie all scared?" Bellatrix taunted mockingly, sucking on the end of her wand like it was a sugar quill. She showed absolutely _no_ concern for the dark or anyone else, as usual.

Crabbe nudged his best mate, Brutus Goyle. "Go check on our guests."

Goyle rolled his eyes. "I don't like it. Outdone by a bloody Gryffindor. We've been trying to get Snape for over a year now."

"Well, he's not exactly here because he wants to be, yeah?" Crabbe sniffed. "We were trying to get him on _our_ side."

Goyle shrugged. "There was always something wrong with him, mate. He was always hanging out with the stupid Mudblood." He shook his head. "Now we have to deal with Pettigrew getting all up in our faces thinking he's better than us."

Crabbe shooed his mate off. "Go make sure he's not having his way with the witch. The Dark Lord alone gets to decide her fate. Not Pettigrew."

Goyle nodded, waving his hand dismissively as he walked deeper into the forest.

He hated the outdoors, if he was honest.

Too natural. Too inconvenient. Sure, it was a great place to hide while gathering to attack Hogwarts, but he knew Hagrid had "things" hiding out in the forest. Those things liked to attack rather than run away.

Goyle greatly preferred the trappings of civilisation where every noise made sense. The forest had too many creepy unknown sounds. Too many extra things to safely ignore.

Peter had conjured a cage around the girl and had Snape under the Imperius Curse. He found the Imperius Curse to be on a very fine line between effective and dangerous. Some people could shake it off, and you'd never know when they would. One moment they'd be under your sway, and the next you'd find yourself flat on your back bleeding from a hundred thousand nasty slicing hexes.

No, Goyle _much_ preferred incapacitation. He didn't want to end up a gimp like his idiot cousin, Durward.

No one did, really.

When he arrived in the clearing where the cage was, he found it standing empty.

_What the fuck?_

He heard a groan, and he pulled his wand. Mulciber.

He rushed over.

"Mulciber! What the _**fuck**_ , man?"

But when he touched his shoulder, warm stickiness came back on his hand.

Blood.

Mulciber was grasping at his throat.

Torn to shreds.

His eyes were very wide.

So impossibly wide.

He looked just like the dumb animals he liked to torture, and Goyle stumbled back from the scene, no more interested in that sort of violence than he was in watching Mulciber at work.

Mulciber had a love for torture or perhaps a great hate for animals— or maybe both. It made him focused and willing to do a great many things under the Dark Lord's banner.

To each their own, Goyle had figured.

But now—

_**Thhhhhkkk!** _

Goyle let out a shocked cry as his arm was pinned to a tree trunk with an arrow.

Another got his other arm.

His wand went flying off into the dense undergrowth.

Dark shapes suddenly began to materialise from the surrounding shadows and trees.

 _Centaur_.

A tall male beast walked up to him, a dark scowl on his face.

Even in his situation, he couldn't help but think it was a filthy animal wearing a human-like face. Utterly unnatural.

The centaur notched his bow and drew it back, aiming it directly at Goyle's heart. "I will speak very slowly so you can understand," the centaur said. "You will tell me where my daughter is and you will tell me _now_ , or I will show you exactly _how_ barbaric centaur can truly be."

"Do your ruddy worst!" Goyle heard himself blurt out defiantly.

"Bane," the centaur said, staring directly into Goyle's terrified eyes. "Cut off his bollocks. Slowly."

"Of course, Admetos. With pleasure." He pulled out a long, wicked-looking blade. "I saved the dullest one I could find just for tonight's pleasures."

The ensuing screams, Goyle soon realised, were his own.

* * *

Crabbe was starting to get seriously unnerved.

Goyle hadn't been back in hours, and it seemed like more and more of their people were wandering off and getting lost in the dark woods.

En masse, they were powerful, but when the Dark Lord wasn't in attendance for whatever reason, the group tended to do their own thing. Even Bellatrix did that, despite her rather obvious infatuation with the Dark Lord.

Speaking of Bella—

Where the _**hell**_ had she gone swanning off to?

It was as dark as the Stygian Abyss, and he lit the end of his wand so he could see his hand in front of his face. Since when did the forest get so dark? It was daytime, for crying out loud.

Crabbe shook his head. He should at least check on Goyle. It wasn't like him to take so long.

He took the trail that Goyle had left on, hoping that he didn't find his mate and Pettigrew having some sort of duel in the forest. It was true that no one liked Peter and trusted him even less, but the annoying braggart had brought in Snape and his mysterious paramour— something the Dark Lord had wanted removed for some time now ever since they'd found out about her.

He wondered if Lily Evans realise what her big mouth did for others.

Probably not.

The Mudblood was too wrapped up in her own dramas to actually see what was being done because of her.

Crabbe had to smile at that. At least Snape had some sense in keeping to himself. Had it not been for Evans, they'd never have known about his little girlfriend. Everyone thought Snape was eternally smitten with Evans. He wouldn't have believed Snape was even capable of being smitten after that cascade row he had had in front of so many Gryffindor. The humiliation alone had made Snape bitter and so, so close to joining their cause.

But something had foiled them.

That something had been the girl.

She must have been some reject that never made it through Hogwarts. No one knew who she was. It was possible she was even a Muggle.

 _Disgusting_.

Snape always had a thing for Muggle filth. It was his most horrible failing other than being unfortunate enough that his magical mum thought sleeping with scum was better than doing her duty and marrying as her family had arranged.

Yeah, well, it didn't work out quite like she'd wanted, now did it?

Crabbe smirked.

Sure, they might have helped out with that a bit— helping Snape see the folly of marrying filthy little Muggles.

Merlin, but they had been _so_ close. So close to getting Snape properly in line and on board with the plan.

Now they actually had to _Imperius_ him? That didn't seem like much of a sound plan. Anything that required them having to rely on sodding Pettigrew was a really bad idea.

He finally made it to the clearing where he was sure Pettigrew had the Muggle harlot caged up.

The cage was open, empty.

And Goyle.

Oh, Merlin, what in—

Goyle was suspended by his arms on the trunk of a tree, his body pierced by multiple arrows. He was bleeding severely and moaning incoherently, but he wasn't alone.

_**Merlin, no!** _

Every trunk had another Death Eater on display, and each one had several arrow shafts buried deep in their bodies.

There were a lot of trees.

There were a lot of— bodies.

" _The Forbidden Forest is forbidden for a reason,"_ Dumbledore had said at the Welcoming Feast _. "Should you foolishly choose to ignore this warning, the consequences could be— quite severe."_

Worse, Crabbe realised, all of them were of age or older.

Purposely so.

The Dark Lord had been very specific about making sure those who took the Mark were of age. He wanted no part of any sniveling childish regrets.

But, seeing the bodies of his comrades in arms hanging from tree trunks perforated with arrows—

There were some _definite_ regrets cultivating in his gut.

"The centaur are but beasts," the Dark Lord had said. "Treat them as such, for none of them can hurt a true wizard or witch. Like animals, they will smell your doubt and fear, so show them none. Make them suffer until they realise they are nothing but the animals you know them to be."

Crabbe felt his grip on his wand becoming shaky, and he clenched his fingers around it more tightly.

Goyle had never had any problems treating animals as the animals they were, and now he was strung up like a prized cow— just like an animal for slaughter.

His horrified eyes caught the sickening sight of Mulciber—

What was left of him, anyway. He was pretty sure it was Mulciber—the forest scavengers had already made quick work of his softer parts.

It had been incredibly fun and exciting to go out and kill Muggles. They had done such _creative_ things with the bodies, but this—

These were his comrades.

His mates.

Fuck, this wasn't the way it was supposed to go at _**all!**_

He started to run.

He hadn't signed up to die.

The trees seemed to enclose around him, tearing at his robes as he fled in terror. He slashed out with every vicious spell he could think of, desperate to leave the bloody forest behind once and for all. The ground seemed darker as if it was the Abyss yawning forth, eager to take him straight down to Hades via express train.

He burst out from the tree line, seeing Hogwarts castle looming on the horizon.

Salvation.

At least he would survive. He could make up some reason for them to check the forest for the bodies and hopefully get the centaur in trouble for murdering innocents.

_**Nnnnnnnnnrraaasskkkkkkreeeee!** _

Claws like bloody daggers dug deep into his burning shoulders, with the feel of fire.

It was more than pain. It was more than his sinking realisation that he'd been caught. It was more than fear that he wouldn't be able to wiggle out of his life choices now that all his comrades were dead or dying…

When the greater dragonbat flung Crabbe down upon the ramparts at a wide-eyed Dumbledore's feet, he rolled over to find the very face of primordial terror staring back at him.

Rows and rows of venom-dripping fangs seemed to go on forever. The very fires of damnation burned in the creature's eyes, and yet a fierce ire pooled in the back of the beast's unnatural throat like the glow of fire trapped within a lantern.

"You will tell me everything I wish to know and truthfully, human," the horrific hell-beast snarled. "For unlike the Headmaster who relies on subtle touch and gaze, I have no such time or compunctions about ripping memories out of you strand by strand until nothing of you is left to scream. I will leave you a mere husk of life, never dying, forever suffering, continually lamenting how you could have been spared such terrible things had you only simply. _**Told. The. Truth."**_

It was at that point that Reynold Crabbe lost all control of his sphincter and bowels and promptly blurted out his entire life history starting from when he shat his very first nappy.

* * *

Perhaps, it is said, the Dark Lord was never really a thing to begin with.

Perhaps, many might say, the war never really _was_ a war.

It was just stories— dark things that people told in the pitch of night to scare wayward children who did not behave.

Others said there were far greater, uglier, evil things than a Dark Lord

Perhaps, this was so.

Perhaps, not.

However, the children of Hogwarts grew up mostly oblivious to what was going on just outside their front door. Some had lost their parents— their friends, but the reasons were never so clear as mere good and evil.

Dumbledore seemed profoundly relieved, as if a great weight had been taken off his shoulders— and some wondered what could have possibly weighed so heavily upon him after having defeated the terrible Dark Lord Grindlewald.

Stories spread, even on the wings of rumour, of _why_ the Forbidden Forest was so firmly forbidden, and many believed that far darker things than the centaur made their home in out in the woods beyond the castle doors.

Yet— even in the light of such impending darkness, be it real or imagined, Hogwarts had gained something remarkable indeed in a strange, new acceptance for the different.

How could they not with a family of dragonbats in residence, after all?

The newest DADA instructor was a most fearsome sight to behold, and it was perfectly safe to say that no one dared skive off Master Manfred Morgan's class.

 _Ever_.

The jinx on the defence position seemed to have turned to mist only to be completely eradicated by the glory of the rising sun.

The reality that being a legal adult in age did most emphatically _not_ excuse you from random acts of astonishing stupidity was the very first lesson of the day. For those who doubted, they need only stare at the sheer number of unoccupied desks next to them in the Great Hall or in class.

Some of the students now seemed rather less than enthused about reaching the ripe old age of seventeen, fearing that growing up and becoming a (theoretically) responsible adult was perhaps a _little_ more intimidating than they'd originally thought.

But as couples began to pair off, preparing for their N.E.W.T.s and life out in the wide world together, a collective sigh of profound relief seemed to settle over Wizarding Britain.

Some, such as one Lily Evans, learned from Reynold Crabbe's trial, as one of the few surviving Death Eaters, that people with willfully ignorant big mouths, a penchant for blind hatred, and highly opinionated grudges based on little more than hearsay and outdated stereotypes could cause a vast amount of havoc and mayhem and no one seemed to want to have _that_ kind of shame and notoriety attached to their name anymore, much less that of their own family.

A certain Peter Pettigrew, in exchange for not getting "the Kiss" gleefully told the Wizengamot every dirty secret and opinion he had on everyone, and Lily Evans attempted to fuse herself with the ground in her mortification and shame.

Rumour said that only the timely arrival of Master Manfred Morgan had saved Pettigrew's sorry hide from being ripped to pieces, and only his skillful teamwork with Poppy saved him from the thousands of horrific rampaging diseases that had riddled his body upon arrival.

Some questioned why anyone would bother save him at all or why they had to save him from Snape of all people—

Snape and his mysterious centaur-apprenticed witch that no one could seem to recall having seen before—

Yet none could forget the look of him carrying the unconscious witch out of the forest in his arms just like in the blustery romance novels, down the halls, and up to the infirmary. Witches would talk for months on end about how they wished someone could sweep _them_ up in their arms like that— with such a protective and undoubtedly devoted look.

Even fewer could forget the look of white-faced terror on Lily Evans' face when Snape's black eyes met hers as he walked. He didn't bother to pause even once as he continued his walk, but it was clear to all that he saddled her with the kind of unforgiving blame that could sink ships.

It was not blind, prejudicial blame, either, most agreed upon seeing Lily's guilt-ridden reaction to the glare. She had done— something.

Something unforgivable.

They whispered that he hadn't left his witch's side the entire time she lay in the infirmary. That he barely ate. Slept only fleetingly, but very few knew the actual truth.

Stories were so much easier to believe in a world where the truth was often hard to accept.

But things were changing now, ever so slowly.

The old gears were not being greased, no. They were being replaced, one by one.

For if dragonbats could teach defence and heal your body (and arguably rip it to shreds if they chose to) then learning to get along in a school shouldn't be all _that_ hard, right?

Only time would tell, but the Wizarding World of Britain soldiered on— sans one Dark Lord and his merry band of psychopaths, murderers, sadists, and fawning sycophants.

And Hogwarts, well, she seemed pretty darned satisfied.

* * *

Hermione awoke to find Severus with his head down on the side of the bed cradled over his arms.

His countenance was haggard and much paler than usual, his dark hair falling about his face in oily clumps.

She smelled the familiar herbal scent of centaur healing poultices and smiled, glad they were taking the pain from the beating away. It was pretty hard to tell how long she'd been out, and she had a feeling it was somewhat longer than it seemed. Her memory was shattered into pieces, and what she _did_ remember was of a hazy, incoherent rage and the mocking face of the man who had destroyed Harry's dreams of having a caring family— even if it was with the Sirius Black of that time.

She wondered if the Sirius Black from her past was just like the one from this time.

Had she missed something that crucial?

Even Crookshanks had been fooled, and Crooks, she had thought, had been a keen judge of character.

Obviously not so much, if Sirius Black's true nature was anywhere near as vindictively hateful as that of his younger self— then again, if the continual nasty arguments back at Grimmauld Place were any indicator as to the never-die hateful relationship between Severus and Sirius, then maybe it wasn't so hidden, after all.

* * *

" _Let her go."_

" _And why, Severus, would I do that, when a mere flick of my wand could end her unworthy life? Swear fealty to me, and I will permit you to keep your little Mudblood paramour who thinks being with beasts is more fitting. Perhaps she's right. Maybe that_ is _where they truly belong."_

" _You have no idea what you've done," Snape said, as he tucked away his wand._

_The Dark Lord smiled cruelly. "Enough to win."_

" _Your hatred makes you vulnerable," Snape said coldly, his expression changing from utter wrath to a deadly calm. He tilted his head to the side as all hints of any previous emotion left his face._

" _I have no emotion, impudent boy," Voldemort snapped. "There is nothing that makes me vulnerable. Wormtail, do show our guest what happens to fools who possess useless emotions."_

" _Yes, my Lord!"_

_The rodent-man grinned evilly and yanked Hermione around, jarring her head back so her neck was flexed as far as possible. He pressed his wand tightly against her jugular vein. "Crucio," he said, his cooing voice like a lover's address._

_Snape's expression curved into a dark smile._

" _Hatred."_

_Hermione's screams of agony rang throughout the forest._

" _You see, I am but the hunter, the pursuer," he tugged at his collar and slowly undid his buttons. I am both vengeance and the avenger." Snape's eyes glowed. "But she— my Lord— she is the embodiment of justice and retribution. And you— you are but food."_

_The Dark Lord spun to see Hermione's feline teeth clamp around Wormtail's good arm, dislocating it out of the socket before yanking it clean off his body, her fanged mouth seething with a cloud of green-tinged disease. He could feel something pulled from his body that was then sucked into the Nundu's body._

_Emotion?_

_She was feeding off his emotion!_

" _You made me_ hurt _her. You made_ her _doubt me." Severus' voice was but jagged shards of ice. "A thousand deaths will not be enough for each tear you caused— but not mine. Hers are the only ones that matter— and I curse your line a thousand years for every single tear you have made her shed. May you never get what you want. May you never escape death. May you live a long and pathetically normal life every time your spirit claws itself into a body. Ignored. Shunned. Impotent. May all violence come back at you three score plus two. May magic scald your body cruelly from the inside for every last spell you cast that did not stem from a wholly unselfish use. With magic as my witness, may you burn. Eternally."_

_Magic seemed to dance and flow around Snape, and perhaps for the very first time, Tom Riddle experienced the awe of magic in someone else— someone other than himself. Snape's form twisted and tore free from its human shell, spikes, and horns, fangs, and claws, feathers of molten rock made form, as rivers of steaming lava dripped from huge, yellowed fangs._

_The hellhound and the Nundu leapt upon the Dark Lord at once, tearing him limb from limb and piece by piece._

_Scream by agonising scream._

_As a terrified and whimpering Wormtail attempted to crawl away, the shadow of the great dragonbat seemed to cow even the trees surrounding the clearing. He let out a leaf-blasting SCREEEEEEEEE as he landed squarely on top of a cowering Peter Pettigrew._

_Venom dripped from his fangs as he gave the younger man a toothy grin. "Rejoice, human! For_ very _bad things are about to happen."_

_Peter passed out in sheer trouser-soiling terror to the horrifying sound of his Lord and master being torn to bloody screaming shreds as bones crunched, and flesh was torn to ribbons under the vicious growls and snarls of great beasts._

* * *

Hermione gently placed her hand upon a sleeping Severus' head.

He instantly startled awake, his black eyes going very wide. "I'm sorry!" he blurted. "I'm _**so**_ sorry!"

Her expression softened. "It wasn't your fault, Severus," she said softly.

He gave her a look of such tortured self-flagellation that Hermione could only pull him into her arms and press her face into his hair.

"I remember now. It wasn't you."

"But you thought it was."

"At first, but I couldn't make myself believe it."

Severus mumbled into her chest. "I never wanted you to think that of me. Not _ever_."

"It wasn't you doing those things, Severus," Hermione said, stroking his hair. You saved me in the end."

He looked up at her, his eyes sad. "I hardly saved you."

"It was only the thought of you that kept me from descending into bestial instinct and violence forever."

"To be fair, there was a lot of hate inside one person." Severus touched her cheek. "I had my own fair share."

Hermione sighed. "He had more. So very much more."

"I was so afraid I'd lost you."

"I was still alive."

"Lost you here," he said, pointing to her heart. "Nothing mattered but seeking vengeance for stealing that from my life. Your trust. Your warmth."

"Severus," she replied, grasping his hand. "I thought you'd change your mind about me— that if you saw who I truly was, it would disgust you."

"You could never disgust me."

Hermione smiled weakly. "I could, if you saw a reason to feel so."

"I'm not sure why you would ever think that." Severus' expression twisted in realisation. "The future me. You _know_ me."

Hermione looked down and nodded silently.

"But you never told me what you knew about him. The older me."

"I didn't want it to affect you."She looked sombre, pale even. "I didn't want things to change just because I showed up."

He stared at her. "Don't be thick."

She startled.

Severus grasped her hands in his. "Maybe things happened because you were _supposed_ to change things. Because Hogwarts wanted something to be different. Maybe I was originally going to be the most horrible bastard on the planet— a Death Eater, like them. But you changed all that. You _believed_ in me. No one has ever believed in me like you did."

He stared upward. "Look at how many people you've saved from a war that never happened."

"No."

Severus looked at her firmly.

"I didn't save people, Severus," Hermione said. "We _all_ did. You, me, the herd, our masters. Hogwarts itself."

Severus took in a deep breath. "I think you're right."

Their moment of silent contemplation was abruptly broken as a certain dragonbat whufted, making their hair fly in all directions. "You're awake, my dear. I am glad you did not hibernate the way of the gods. You tend to wake up centuries later and discover that your favourite forest is now but a parking lot or a village or some other eyesore."

Hermione blinked.

"Don't be such a pot stirrer, love," Poppy said, nudging him over. She cast one wing over Hermione, her wing spur glowing where her wand would have been. "Good, you're all better. No pain, I hope?"

Hermione shook her head.

Mossfoot tutted as she ran her hands over Hermione and palpated her manually. "I agree with your assessment. I am glad you are well after your ordeal, Atalanta."

Hermione smiled. "I am glad to be here and in one piece." She sighed heavily. "I'll be happy to go home."

"The others will be happy to hear that," Mossfoot agreed. "We would have brought you home after the ordeal, but there was the chance there were more of the like that attacked you hidden in the woods. We moved camp and kept the foals guarded."

Hermione nodded. "Understandable."

"The stallions all feel that their training as warriors and hunters is no longer as useless as they once thought," Mossfoot chuckled.

Hermione smiled. "I doubt they thought their hunting skills were completely useless, no?"

Mossfoot nodded. "Hardly the same use— but they were determined to track the trespassers down and find you. At least the first part they were successful. Anicetus Karanos Hegelochos did the rest."

" _ **Manfred, for the love of dragonfruit!"**_

Mossfoot chuckled and Hermione giggled even as Poppy promptly stuffed a tasty slice of dragonfruit into her mate's maw.

Manfred chewed thoughtfully, placated by the fruity goodness.

Poppy offered him another, but just as Manfred moved to take it, a certain phoenix appeared out of nowhere to snatch it up and zoom at top speed out the nearest infirmary window.

"Why you little—"

Manfred screeeeed in outrage and took off after the fruit-thieving interloper, somehow managing to squeeze through a window that had not been designed for dragonbats in the slightest.

Hermione burst into laughter as Poppy tittered and shook her head in amusement.

"I believe it is time we left Poppy's hospitality," Mossfoot said with a whicker. "We do not wish to cause any more drama with the Headmaster of Hogwarts than we already have."

Hermione bobbed her head, licking her lips and seeming like she was chewing on something.

Mossfoot pressed her warm equine body closer to Hermione. "Do not stress, Atalanta. Your stay here was authorised— if but for a time— by the brown coats."

"Aurors," Poppy clarified.

Hermione made a soft nickering sound, and Mossfoot helped guide her out.

"You may come with us, Nisyros," Mossfoot said, looking back at Severus. "I believe you have a few stars to question."

Severus looked as if he were about to follow them out when a cluster of stern-looking men in brown coats came in and seized Hermione by the arm, jerking her away as they stunned her with a spell.

"Hermione Granger, you are under arrest for the murder of Tom Riddle."

"She is a centaur. Your laws do not govern us," Mossfoot objected.

The head Auror in the group curled his lip. "She's human, unlike you, beast," the man said. "And she will be judged by the Wizengamot for her crimes."

"What is the _**meaning**_ of this? This is a _**school!**_ " Poppy protested angrily.

"Which is harbouring a criminal," the head Auror said with a sneer. "And she isn't a student here. I checked. Which means, she had no right to be here. "Not that I expect a beast sympathizer like yourself to understand," he said to Pomfrey.

The Auror looked utterly smug and sure of himself.

Poppy's growing distress was starting to manifest with sparks of electricity, and it started to crackle ominously between her great wings. A high-pitched _**SCREEEEEEEE**_ came from seemingly everywhere at once, and the Aurors began to shiver and shake involuntarily as the strong stench of urine began to fill the air.

" _ **Get her to the Ministry! Now!"**_ the head Auror barked.

The Aurors pulled out what seemed to be a Portkey and jerked Hermione amidst themselves, their arms so tight around her neck that she was starting to turn blue from lack of oxygen.

Severus' expression was positively murderous, and his arms jerked as bones cracked, shifted, and realigned.

The Aurors cast a Animagus repression spell, all of them hitting Snape at the same time.

His head jutted out as his jaw cracked and realigned, extending into a muzzle filled with sharp obsidian teeth. His skin cracked as rivulets of molten lava oozed from every pore, and his fierce black eyes were swallowed up in fire.

"He's not an Animagus!"

"What the _**fuck**_ is that!"

" _ **KILL THAT FUCKING BEAST!"**_

" _Avada Ke—"_

_**KERBLAMMMMMM!** _

The side of the infirmary crumbled and fell as an extremely pissed-off Manfred Morgan let out a screech of absolute fury. His tail shot into the debris, wrapped around each of the Aurors, and threw them out across the green like a handful of pebbles and out into the depths of the Dark Forest where the alerted centaur waited with heightened anticipation for Hermione's return.

When the dust cleared, only the head Auror remained with his wand pressed firmly into Hermione's neck.

"Auror Dawlish," Manfred snarled. "How very predictable that you would show your craven hand now, of all times. Did you fill the Wizengamot with cronies of Umbridge and Fudge as they attempt to rise to power in a bid to overthrow Minister Minchum? Precisely how long do you think it will take Amelia to realise the extent of your treachery?"

"I swear I will kill her right here and now if you take one step closer, freak," Dawlish smarled.

But Dawlish had forgotten something in his haste to address the looking threat of the greater dragonbat.

Snape's obsidian shard teeth ripped into Dawlish's shoulder and tore his arm clean off, freeing a gasping Hermione from his brutal grasp. His scalding lava cauterised the amputated arm immediately, ensuring that nothing could be reattached without shaving off even more of his shoulder.

Dawlish clutched at his shoulder stump, screaming, cursing, spewing a litany of threats.

Mossfoot, Hermione cradled in her arms, kicked Dawlish with her hind legs, clocking him squarely in the head, knocking him out cold, and sending his limp body careening out of the gaping hole in the infirmary wall.

Manfred and Poppy peered out over the edge to see the real group of assigned Aurors looking up wide-eyed from the green with a dawning horror written all over their faces.

"That, gentlemen, is your spy," Manfred rumbled lowly. "His gaggle of little numpty friends can be found out in the forest— hopefully getting themselves perforated by numerous arrows courtesy of a herd of very angry centaurs. Do be a bunch of good lads and clean up after them, please? I seem to have a wall in need of immediate repair."

" _ **Sir!"**_ the Aurors said, scrambling at once.

"You never quit your old job, did you Manfred?" Poppy sighed, catching her breath along with her scrambled wits.

Manfred's expression was considering. "One does not simply quit the DoM, my dear. We simply expand our horizons and multitask."

"I really need a good cuppa or three," Poppy said, sitting down hard.

Manfred thoughtfully conjured a large mug of tea from the stasis shelf, added a slice of lemon, and brought it to her— then promptly snogged her into forgetting all about her stresses.

Mossfoot eyed Severus as the hellhound wrapped himself around Hermione and encased her in cooled lava so only a bit of her curly hair poked out of the top

"Overkill, Nisyros," Mossfoot said, flicking her tail with amusement.

The hellhound snorted, setting his head on top of the cocooned witch.

"I supposed _that_ answers the question of if the immunity is constant regardless of form."

* * *

The Burning Feather Apothecary and Clinic opened in Hogsmeade a few years later when Severus and Hermione had completed their apprenticeships. They offered a variety of custom potions the like of which were the envy of many patent-holders. The bounties on the heads of all the Death Eaters plus the Dark Lord himself had ensured a very healthy nest egg, allowing for the opening of their business together, a property with several acres of land that was quite close to the forest, and enough connections to secure the finest potions ingredients from all over the world.

Manfred and Poppy opened and tended the clinic side, and people came from far and wide for the "treatment that worked when all else failed." Most members of the DoM, of course, came in regularly for their checkups and debriefings, and Amelia became as close as family now that Umbridge, Fudge, and their pot-stirring minions had been—

Reassigned.

To a frozen island in Antarctica.

In a small Apparition-jinxed cabin set up for studying and monitoring the endangered magical emperor penguin, whose only distinguishing features from a regular emperor penguin was a ring of bright purple feathers around their necks and a highly aggressive and territorial nature.

It was said the house-elves were the only ones that saw them, if but once a week when they ported in fresh crates of supplies, and they always made sure to do it so swiftly that they could not be caught or otherwise persuaded to help them escape their tasks.

Hermione tended to the traditional centaur medicine, travelling to herds all around the world to tend their aches and pains, share the latest herd news, and keep the lines of communication open amongst the centaur of the world, but she was never without Severus at her side. He refused to leave it after it had become clear that trouble seemed to find his mate regardless of what she thought about it.

Their marriage had been a rather quiet, private affair, with only the herd, Manfred, Poppy, and a handful of others in attendance— under the stars and moon as per centaur tradition. Their kiss had been a thing of legends, having forged a new line of magic that made Wizarding Britain sigh with relief that a new house was rising amidst the ashes of the families that had proven far less worthy of support after throwing themselves in with the like of the Dark Lord part two or what _ever_ number came after Gellert Grindlewald.

And while Severus and Hermione travelled the world so she could benefit patients with her remarkable healing skills and then return so she could help him with their highly-successful potions business, the mollified Lily Evans married the reformed James Potter, who started a charity and shelter for abused magical children and squibs in Hogsmeade. They were expecting a child of their own now, and thanks to a potion brewed by the Snapes, James' elderly parents didn't die from Dragon Pox.

It seemed that life was looking up for both families, if but in distinctly different ways.

Hermione had a litter of p'ubs (as Manfred called them affectionately) that had a distinctive lava-prone tendency, feline personalities, and the need to both fireproof and shred proof all the items at the house.

Aunt Poppy and Uncle Manfred made an adoring adopted family, and the "p'ubs" (named Edan, Tana, and Keegan) learned top-notch practical skills from them plus superb guile and hunting prowess from the centaur.

Of course, they learned from their parents, too, who tolerated no funny-business when it came to learning.

Their favourite part of the day was bedtime, when the centaur would tell the epic stories of their people and trace them amongst the stars, sometimes even sneaking in stories about the adventures of a certain Nundu and her beloved Hellhound, much to their parents' total mortification.

When the p'ubs would ask why mum had been so vulnerable when Nundu were supposed to be strong and unbeatable, Magorian would remind them that to have compassion was a gift stronger than hate, and that their mum's love had saved them all and changed the world in a way that allowed them to be born.

The p'ubs, mollified and ashamed that they had thought their mum a coward, cuddled extra tight against her body to sleep for many months after that revelation

But Severus never doubted Hermione's amazing strength. Her strength of compassion and forgiveness had changed him the most of all, saving him from a dark path of damnation that would have had him living a life full of endless regret and self-hatred for the rest of his life.

She never once lost faith in him.

And he never left her side for all the years they walked the Earth, rivalled only by a certain pair of dragonbats in the extent of their almost mythical devotion and renown.

The p'ubs and dragon-batlings spread across the Earth to seek out their own purpose in life, making their mark across the magical world just like their parents before them.

And Hogwarts itself seemed to glow in the satisfaction of a job well done.

For now help would be given at Hogwarts to all those in need.

Always.

_**MrrrowllwhufffSCREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!** _

* * *

**A/N** : And so ends the grand tale of the Hellhound and the Nundu. I hope you enjoyed the trip, and please thank Dragon and the Rose for propping her eyelids open to beta this fic.

Pretty good chance I'll be headed back to work this week, so my publishing schedule on ff dot net, and the near-daily art dumps on A03 in the Hearts and Cauldrons repository will probably no longer be possible. It was nice while it lasted, but I really don't recommend getting your arm twisted to get some rest.

Just saying.

Be well and stay safe out there, my friends. Please wear a mask, if not for yourself, for someone like me who catches the plague instead of a simple cold whenever someone even sniffles around them.

Peace and a long life to you all.


End file.
